A/N: Please note that there is no illustration for this chapter due to pressures and stuff. Instead we welcome you to look at old illustrations. :3 Enjoy!

There was still so much to be done today. People to meet. Another article to write. At some point Enjolras knew he also had to come up with a time for the next meeting, and give that to Combeferre. But all that could wait until after he was done with the book of which he was in the middle of.

And apparently also until after he finished dealing with whoever was now knocking at the door. "It's open," he said in a carrying tone, and waited until Combeferre had appeared in the doorway to return to his reading. It was probably about something pointless like laundry or the breakfast he hadn't eaten. "Yes?" he asked, turning over a minimum of attention to whatever reminder he was being served with this morning.

"We need to talk," Combeferre said firmly.

"All right." Nothing was stopping him, that was certain.

Combeferre sighed. "…about Grantaire."

Snap. Enjolras shut his book between the fingers of one hand and gave his visitor a look of some annoyance. "I thought we settled that yesterday."

"Lucien and Dominic came to talk to me about it," he said in his most sensible, level-headed, reasonable, irritating tone. "I think they may have some valid points."

"Why didn't they come talk to me, then?"

Combeferre's eyebrow rose slightly. "Hmm. I didn't ask."

"You ought have. I don't want to be the kind of leader that no one can approach. You know I don't like being put on a pedestal." He was going to have to be more guarded about his speech; he was starting to sound petulant. He refused to believe that the attitude could be linked to his empty stomach, as Combeferre's involuntary glance toward his untouched plate seemed to indicate his friend did.

"I imagine they would not hesitate to approach you about most things, Enjolras," Combeferre said, switching to his 'diplomatic' voice. He must sound even more defensive than he thought he had. Enjolras made a mental note to spend more time working on keeping his emotional tone level. "But you do have a certain...known dislike of Grantaire."

…was that so. "So they assume I'm biased."

"Are you?" Combeferre asked simply.

No. Yes. No. He was not biased. He did treat Grantaire differently than he treated the others, but Grantaire was also a fine example of the apathetic, cynical, drunken and morally indifferent type that would drag the Revolution down in the end were it allowed to proliferate. He picked up his fork and poked at whatever unidentifiable mess the housekeeper had delivered. "If I were, I would hardly admit to it. Even the Church does not force a man to broadcast his sin, and I must be perfect as Justice and Right are perfect."

"I see," Combeferre said. He could hear a slight smile in his voice. "Do you want to hear their valid points?"

"Does it matter? You're going to tell me anyway." Besides, if Combeferre said their points were valid, there had to be at least some logic behind them. He might as well listen.

"True." Combeferre paused to adjust his glasses, a habit of his. "Apart from feeling Grantaire wouldn't have any motive to turn us in, they did make the point that it is unlikely he would have the nerve or the lucidity to do the job at all."

Enjolras sighed and thought this over for a moment before realizing there was something they had missed. He tried not too looked too pleased with himself. "I suppose that is a point. Only the last one, though. An utterly illogical drunk such as he could not have done it easily...unless he was prompted by someone actively looking for information. Did they think of that possibility?"

Combeferre looked extremely skeptical, even more so than he generally looked when holding rare conversations with Joly. "...Does he have any other 'friends' who might even know he has access to us?"

"You expect me to know the answer to that? As if I spend my time following him around?" He had far better things to do with his time, that was for certain.

A slight frown. "For anyone to know he comes to the meetings, they would have to be watching us in which case they wouldn't even have needed the Win-" Combeferre caught himself, and Enjolras gave him his own version of the infamous over-the-glasses look. Having no glasses, he looked down his nose instead. His friend ignored it and continued with his self-correction. "-Grantaire."

"He talks incessantly, the more so the more drunken he gets. I doubt the phenomenon is confined to our meetings," Enjolras pointed out. Combeferre looked for a moment as though he might be convinced, something which – if he recalled correctly – almost never happened. But then the look gave way to a frown.

"In which case he didn't turn us in to the authorities at all - even if he did cause our arrest."

"The difference is merely a difference in cause, and differences in causes are mere trivia when the effect is the same. The blacksmith who cheated on nails is just as responsible for the loss of the battle as the messenger who pushed his beast too far for the shoe to hold." He and Combeferre always debated like this. It was good to have another voice on one's own level, even if that voice disagreed with one.

"But this is more a case of considering the horse responsible for the blacksmith's greed and the messenger's poor judgment," Combeferre said. Now he was using his best persuasive voice. "Were Grantaire the cause of our incarceration due to an unfortunate word spoken at a time when he was no longer in control of his sensibilities, then is it truly something we can blame him for?"

Enjolras could almost not believe that Combeferre had just asked him that question. "He is an irresponsible drunkard who takes no care in doing anything and certainly makes no attempt to keep himself in control of his own sensibilities. I think that we can."

"He's quite human," Combeferre said. Of course. Combeferre had what Enjolras considered to be a blind spot caused by his unconditional love for humanity. "While we may consider him too much of a liability to attend our meetings anymore, anything that he did was done without malice - in which case you were too harsh."

"I maintain that I was not," he said sharply, perhaps too sharply. He reined in his tone and continued in a calmer manner. "He believes that there is no good in humanity; this, in spite of his presence among a group of men dedicated to preserving what is good in humanity; therefore, I do not believe he can have much of his human feelings left, and in any case he only gets exactly what he expects, which is more than what many of us hope to get."

He could tell from Combeferre's stern look that this last phrase had been a tactical misstep. He simply couldn't afford to keep making errors like this. "A man steeped in poverty does not expect any different from the world except harshness, does this therefore excuse us from extending any compassion to him?"

"This is a different case," he said severely. "He has rejected the compassion extended to him and clings to his ways."

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "I cannot remember any of us extending compassion to him." They exchanged significant and contradictory looks.

"You don't remember my early attempts to convert him?" Enjolras prodded.

Combeferre sighed a little. "...ami, I know you've seen men on the streets, you've helped men on the streets too. And sometimes they won't accept the help because they can't trust that it won't be taken away from them. Sometimes it takes a long time to form that trust." Another brief battle of glaring ensued.

"You just want me to give in to him, don't you?" Enjolras said finally.

"…I want you to think about it, and to try to do so without any – bias," Combeferre said gently.

"I don't have any bias," he said in annoyance. Watch the tone, Augustin. "My views are firmly grounded in the principles of Liberty and as such are not to be changed lightly."

"Oui, I know. However, according to the principles of Liberty every man is due a fair trial... and the chance to defend himself." Combeferre continued to look so solemn – and, damn it, to make sense – that he couldn't refuse him in the end.

"Fine. Fine. I'll consider it."

"Good." Combeferre got up from the seat he'd taken without Enjolras' really noticing. "Shall I bring your laundry by? I got it from the washerwoman earlier for you." Oh. He'd forgotten that.

"Thank you, if you would." He poked at his breakfast with the fork he'd also forgotten he was still holding. "Why am I supposed to eat this, again?"

"Do you want a detailed description of the benefits of nutrition or for me to say 'Because I said so'?"

He scowled a bit in response to Combeferre's smile; he had things to do today. "The second one. It's shorter."

"Because I said so and I'm a doctor." He straightened his coat and glasses in preparation for going out. "I'll be along later with the laundry. And the assignment you forgot." He gave Enjolras a normally guilt-inducing stare.

He ignored it. "You're always so busy, one day you're going to realize you have absolutely no time left to think."

"I'm thinking all the time, Augustin," Combeferre replied quietly.

"Thinking of ways to badger me into behaving like a 'normal human being'."

Combeferre smiled a little at him. "There's that as well, of course. I'll see you later, Enjolras."

"See you later." His book was calling. And that article. And the three potential initiates he'd been seeing, and he had to have a vague meeting time for the lieutenants before Combeferre returned with his laundry. He was much too busy to think about Grantaire.

When he found that he'd merely skimmed the last three chapters, however, he finally admitted that perhaps he should just get it over and done with so that he could properly concentrate.

Dieu, but Combeferre could be persuasive sometimes.