Courfeyrac

Enjolras returning to class was fairly unexpected. The man had said that he would, but Combeferre had thought it would be too early, and Enjolras tended to listen to Combeferre's instructions.

Not that Enjolras had spoken to Courfeyrac about such things. Combeferre had informed him himself that he thought Enjolras going out would be too risky.

"I can barely get him outside to get food for himself," Combeferre said, trying to get more information out of Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac couldn't blame him for the tactic, sneaky though it was. The others were dying to hear some sort of news about their recovering friend, and Courfeyrac had been usually quiet about the entire ordeal. He joked with them a little, telling them that no news was good news, but he said no more on the matter. It hurt them, he knew, but he wouldn't betray Enjolras' confidence.

That and there wasn't much information to even go by. Enjolras was, for the most part, silent whenever Courfeyrac visited.

The first time he came, he had thought Enjolras would make a polite excuse before shutting the door. He was delighted when the door was further opened, allowing him entry. He filled up the empty minutes by speaking to Enjolras about the goings-on in the world. Combeferre brought his friend newspapers, but Courfeyrac was adept at bringing him emotions. They ran the gamut of scared of another Terror to relief at being able to form their own councils.

Enjolras, for his part, took in the news, remaining stoic. Sometimes sitting upon the couch or standing by the window. After that, Courfeyrac had insisted on bringing him food, small treats here and there that he picked up along the way to Enjolras' flat. He was certain Combeferre wouldn't let Enjolras starve, but Courfeyrac's motives were slightly more selfish. He couldn't stand the silence, and letting Enjolras eat was giving his friend something more to do with his time while permitting Courfeyrac a break between topics so he could turn to another subject at hand.

The silence brought to mind things Courfeyrac desired to keep down as well. He wished to say that he was all there for his friend, but a part of him had been left behind on the barricade that night. Until that time, he had never truly seen evil. He had heard about various cruel sports from others, things that diverged from mocking the less fortunate to the plight of women, even to those whose virtue had been besmirched. But he had never seen it happen to anyone and never knew anyone who had it done to them.

What he saw that night was more than just a violation. It had been a severe abuse, one that branded a person's psyche along with their soul. It reminded Courfeyrac that the humanity they so yearned to raise did always treat them with kindness, or even civility. A brawl was one thing. Vicious verbal assaults were another, and sometimes they came at the same time when dealing with people of differing political views and means of expressing them.

But what happened to Enjolras was another matter entirely and well out of Courfeyrac's range. He spoke because he did not know what to say. He fidgeted because he didn't know where to put his hands. He smiled because crying wouldn't help anyone, least of all Enjolras, and he feared the flinch of his friend if he got up and started ranting about the lunacy of that night and his hatred toward those that were now dead, and even though he had been the second one to fire his gun at those men, he wished they were alive so he could do it over again.

That was a harsh realization for him to come to as he believed fully in granting people chances and the richness of life. All deserved at least one shot at happiness. All of humanity was to be uplifted. They fought and died for such an ideal. They engaged in subversive activities that would have them arrested. They risked their own lives for an unknown person down the road so that unknown could lead a full life.

Courfeyrac wouldn't hesitate in putting another bullet into the heads of those who had laid hands on Enjolras, and yet he wasn't sure he was in the wrong for thinking this way.

His smile had long since grown cold, his muscles weary of his falseness, and he toyed with his thumbs as his gaze went downward. His thoughts drifted back to that night and the last of his pseudo-cheer was spent. All he could think about was what he had seen behind his rifle, and armed though he had been, he was still helpless to prevent the brutal attack upon his friend. Even now, he failed in holding Enjolras' attention. Even in the wake of the onslaught, without any opponents around them, without a barricade serving as an obstacle, he was at a loss for aiding his friend.

He knew Enjolras was not without his barriers and defenses, but Courfeyrac scaled them on a nearly daily basis. They were simply metaphorical landmarks that he hopped over in his careless fashion, entreating his friend to things Enjolras normally would never indulge in, or getting close to his friend to whisper in his ear, while slinging an arm about his person, treating him as he would treat anyone else. With him, Enjolras was no marble statue but a close, dear friend.

And now, he hadn't dared touch Enjolras since that night. He didn't fear the rejection. He feared making the situation worse.

Courfeyrac's breathing hitched when Enjolras' hands came down over his own. He hadn't even noticed the blond move away from the window, but suddenly there he was, looking down at Courfeyrac with an expression of mild concern.

Words sprang to Courfeyrac's mind and he found himself ready with a defense, not for himself but for Enjolras. 'No,' he thought, 'you are not the problem. You are not worrying me. Well, you are, but not like how you're probably thinking.' They were clumsy words and Courfeyrac wasn't used to being so. Social rapport came easily to him, but the retort died in his throat.

"I'll accompany you to class next week. Assuming you are attending," was all Enjolras said before he pulled away and Courfeyrac's hands immediately felt cold without the contact.

After that, how could he not attend?

It wasn't until later that night when Courfeyrac had left the flat and settled into bed that his mind informed him that Enjolras had been trying to cheer him up. The guilt kept him awake for several hours later.

So Courfeyrac did not fully expect to see Enjolras within the lecture hall, though he had shown up just in case. He hadn't promised Enjolras he would attend, but his silence to Enjolras' statement indicated assent. He was able to get into a seat close to his friend and the class went on as normal.

There was some relief in the professor's face when Enjolras maintained his silence throughout the class. Courfeyrac felt uneasy during it all and fidgeted enough times in his chair that the professor felt inclined to bring it to everyone's attention.

"Are you itchy, Monsieur de Courfeyrac? Are you in need of a tree?"

A witticism immediately came to Courfeyrac's mind in response but he swallowed it down. Being tossed out would mean leaving Enjolras alone, and despite the relative safety of the class - so long as the professor maintained his temper and wasn't inclined to throw pieces of chalk or erasers at his more troublesome students - Courfeyrac couldn't depart from his side. So he merely shook his head and moved on.

The third day, Enjolras was asked to recite an old court case from his book. Enjolras had stood up and read aloud, despite having likely memorized everything within the book. This was, to Courfeyrac, another indication that Enjolras was spending as little time as possible within reality. He couldn't say he blamed him. Even without the trauma of the night of the barricades, class was as dull as ever.

"…based upon the bruising of the thighs and the tearing of the internal muscles, the coroner came to the conclusion that the female in question had been…" Enjolras paused, and all too soon did Courfeyrac's brain register what his friend had been reading. He looked over in time to see Enjolras go as white as bone and a hand covered his mouth. Courfeyrac wasn't sure if he was muffling a noise or if he was going to be sick. He placed a hand on Enjolras' arm, not caring about the fear for now.

"Continue, Monsieur Enjol-"

But Enjolras was already speeding out the door of the classroom, uncaring of the whispers he left behind. Courfeyrac hastily gathered up his and his friend's books. "Bad lunch," he said by way of apology before making his own exit.

He checked the bathroom and finding nothing, he went outside to the steps of the university, finding Enjolras sitting on the second stair to the top, his head in his hands. The crowd of students had long since departed either to their classes or to find a good spot to skive off. Courfeyrac dropped down beside Enjolras. "I'm here," he said, half for encouragement, half by way of warning as he slowly reached over to touch Enjolras' knee. There was no flinch which gave him hope.

He had his first conversation with Enjolras upon the steps. They met in class in a manner of speaking. Enjolras had been asked to answer a question, which he did, only the answer had been wrong in the mind of the professor and Enjolras had steadfastly refused to back down, bringing up point after point or argument concerning one case after another. Courfeyrac found himself lost but quickly intrigued, and when Enjolras had been resoundly ejected from the class, he followed on the blond's heels.

Slowly Enjolras moved his hands off of his face, his pallor still a deathly shade of pale, but there were no tears in his eyes and he didn't look ill. Combeferre had been right after all, it was still too early. Not that Courfeyrac would say as much. The last thing he suspected Enjolras would want to hear would be how he should go home and get some rest.

Such a statement would only entail a rebellion that would have Enjolras remaining steadfast upon the steps.

Instead, Courfeyrac chose another route. "Come out with me. Let me get you a drink." It wasn't an orthodox thing to do. It was all too clear that Enjolras wasn't fully ready to embrace a normal schedule so Courfeyrac shouldn't press him for more. But he figured that if Enjolras could manage this, could still keep going despite the disaster of the class, then he was on the right track to recovery. And if Enjolras declined, then that would allow Courfeyrac to escort him back home, a limitation having been found and realized, and they could spend the rest of the day talking.

Well, Courfeyrac talking and Enjolras staring into the distance seeing who knows what.

Enjolras turned haunted eyes toward Courfeyrac and Courfeyrac's grip on Enjolras' knee got a bit tighter. "I'll stay with you," he said by way of comfort. He longed for the days when he could just embrace his friend tightly and transfer so many feelings into just the barest of touches. Enjolras always understood him, comprehended his ways even though he never adopted them for his own.

Another few minutes passed during which Courfeyrac was almost certain that Enjolras would decline.

"Very well," he finally said, turning that gaze away from Courfeyrac and schooling his expression into a reserved mask. He took his books from Courfeyrac and stood, Courfeyrac standing with him.

"Let us depart from here. The company will be far better elsewhere. The air won't feel as contaminated either." With that, he gently moved his arm around Enjolras' shoulders. Enjolras flinched but he didn't move away. Slightly encouraged, Courfeyrac led him off.