Thanks for the reviews. Keep them coming please: )

I know that Enjolras is supposed to be an only son, but that is the one detail from the book that I have changed. Sorry if this annoys you.


CHAPTER 3 - COMBEFERRE IS ALWAYS RIGHT

"Etienne?" Enjolras sat up in bed, startled to hear his friend's voice when he'd been so sure that Combeferre was slumbering. "I thought you were asleep."

"Did you honestly think I would rest easy before you were safely returned from a potentially dangerous task?" Combeferre's quiet voice was amused. "Some one has got to make sure you keep out of trouble! Your rashness will get you arrested one of these days and you're no use to the republic in prison!"

Normally, teasing comments like those would have made Enjolras laugh or dryly retort that Combeferre's tendency to fuss over him was like that of a mother hen. This time, however, he just gave a sigh that held more weariness than Combeferre could bear to hear. But, as ever, the revolution was the first thing on Julien's mind.

"How did things go at Picpus, Etienne?" he asked, the strain in his voice very notable.

"Excellently, mon ami." replied Combeferre, sitting up and swinging his legs onto the floor. "But I will tell you about that in the morning; not before."

Enjolras herd a soft creak as he raised a hand to rub his tired eyes. The next moment, he felt his mattress dip as Combeferre sat on the bottom of his bed.

"What's the matter?" asked Combeferre again, in a voice full of concern. "Didn't things at the Cougourde go well?"

"It went very well, Etienne." sighed Enjolras. "We will be able to count on their support when the time is right. It is not that which bothers me…I was on my way there when I decided to stop by the Barrière du Maine. I only wanted to see how it was going; to see if he was keeping his word and…he was playing dominoes Etienne! He was sitting there wasting his time, wasting the chance we gave him! He failed us all! He's proved himself as useless as I've always said, the drunken…"

"Hold a moment, Julien! Calm down!" Combeferre put a hand on his shoulder. "Did you talk to him?"

"Of course I didn't!" said Enjolras irritably. "He didn't even know I was there; he was so caught up in the damned game! He didn't even attempt to get their attention! He had the perfect opportunity to summon their support and he threw it away! And to think that he begged so ardently to be trusted, the hypocritical blackguard!"

"Don't call him that, Julien!" pleaded Combeferre, who was somewhat alarmed by his friend's fury. Enjolras and Grantaire had never seen eye to eye - Enjolras had believed while Grantaire had scoffed; Enjolras had scowled while Grantaire had grinned – but he'd never heard Julien talk about Grantaire with such violent disgust in his voice. "Believing does not come as easily to him as it does to you."

"He believes in nothing!" said Enjolras derisively. "He attends our meetings only to ramble nonsense and sneer at what we hope to achieve!"

"Yet he always comes back." said Combeferre gently, and the hand tightened on Enjolras's shoulder. "Doesn't that tell you something?"

"That he needs somewhere to go and drink himself insensible!" replied Enjolras, growing furious again. "Just like he did tonight. He crossed my path on the way home, Etienne! He was practically out of his senses! He couldn't even remember what he set out to do and he did not speak a word of the republic all night! I trusted him, Etienne! I trusted him and he let me down!"

Combeferre was quick to see through his friend's cold anger. He could see that it was the staggering hurt inside Enjolras's heart that was fuelling it. Julien was more hurt to have his trust betrayed than he was scornful of Grantaire's failure, though of course the stubborn boy would never admit to such feelings! He also knew that, when Enjolras's trust was broken, it was a long time before he would consent to trust the offender once more.

"Julien," he began, in what Courfeyrac had mischievously dubbed his 'big brother' voice, putting an arm around Enjolras's shoulders. "We cannot all be like you. You find all the comfort you need in your soaring faith and you need no other distraction. Belief is as natural to you as song is to a nightingale. Others are not so lucky, and they seek their solace elsewhere. I know Grantaire makes you despair, and I know you want to see him put his finer qualities to good use. But none of us can fully comprehend what he is going through, or the demons he is fighting within himself, so I do not think any of us can rightfully judge him."

Combeferre's philosophic and reasonable speech struck through Enjolras's layer of hardened anger and touched the gentler, more understanding part of his heart that was so rarely shown to anyone else.

"Why are you always right?" he asked with the ghost of a smile, laying his head on Combeferre's shoulder affectionately. There was no impropriety or hidden meaning in the gesture; it was simply a deep and loving brotherly affection that was shared by both of them.

"Because I'm older, wiser and altogether more sane than you are!" grinned Combeferre, touching his head against the blond locks. "Now get some sleep. We shall have a demanding day tomorrow."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The next day was Thursday, and all the students had morning lectures, so although Enjolras and Combeferre walked to the university together; they separated when they reached the grounds. Enjolras made his way to the Palais de Justice with his usual brisk efficiency, his mind still swimming with the events of the night before. He was dressed in his sombre black attire once more; his revered red garment from the last night hidden safely in his wardrobe. And, despite the momentary calm that Combeferre's fair and thoughtful words had caused, Enjolras knew that he had not forgiven Grantaire.

He found the lecture room very crowded when he went through the door.

"Bon matin, Jerôme." he said quietly, sitting down in his usual place beside Courfeyrac, who was frantically completing the homework from two nights ago. "How did last night's…errand go?" They needed to be very cautious of how much they talked around others, whose loyalties they were not sure of – the time was too close now to start being careless.

"It went satisfactorily, on the whole." said Courfeyrac softly, absently toying with his raven black hair. "I've got a list of the numbers in my satchel. And I rather believe that Jehan's went quite reasonably too, though perhaps not as well as it might. It must have run on rather late though because I practically had to drag him out of bed this morning."

"All right." Enjolras nodded, just as their professor strode into the class and began barking instructions to turn to a certain page in their books. "Say no more just now. We're meeting in the Musain at six o'clock to compare reports."

Courfeyrac nodded silently, his face unusually solemn as they shared looks that spoke a wealth of meaning and could not have been deciphered by anyone who was not a Friend of the ABC. Then they both bent their heads over their books and began to work earnestly. The work and planning they were doing for their upcoming insurrection was leaving them little time for their coursework!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I know that my temperature is far too high!" groaned Joly, as he Combeferre and Prouvaire walked into the Café Musain at half-past five. "Does my face look flushed, Etienne?"

"Yes, Christophe, it does." said Combeferre dryly. "And it is flushed because you are making yourself nervous by convincing yourself that you are ill! There is nothing wrong with you."

Joly bit his lip and began to absent-mindedly feel the glands at his throat. Combeferre shook his head in exasperated amusement and pulled his hands away. Joly shrugged ruefully and stuck them in his pockets instead, blushing at Prouvaire's grin.

When the three of them proceeded through to the back room, the found Courfeyrac and Enjolras already seated at a table, with steaming cups of coffee in front of them. Enjolras was holding a letter in front of him. To everyone's surprise, he was laughing.

"We're going to wait until everyone is here before we start." said Courfeyrac, who was toiling over an essay. "We shall just have to repeat everything otherwise."

"Who is the letter from, Julien?" asked Combeferre curiously, though his heart was warmed to see Enjolras smiling. Since the start of this year, when they had resolved to take action, he had barely smiled at all, and his laughter had become rarer than a four leafed clover.

"My parents." replied Enjolras, with nothing short of a grin.

"Your parents?" interjected Joly in amazement. It was common knowledge that Enjolras's bourgeois parents despaired of him and contacted him only to tell him what a disappointment he was. "And the letter amuses you?"

"Oh yes!" chuckled Enjolras. "Some young fool of a Gendarme has made my sister an offer of marriage!"

"And you're happy about that?" asked Prouvaire disbelievingly, deciding that Enjolras had gone temporarily out of his senses. Joly and Combeferre exchanged confused glances.

"Of course not!" said Enjolras said gleefully. "She's flatly refused him, which naturally my parents are attributing to my appalling influence. It makes for quite a funny read!"

"Of course!" Combeferre explained to the others. "Christine would never accept someone whom her brother so disapproved of! She adores Julien and has always followed his example. And we did speak so ill of the Gendarmes the last time we were home!" Combeferre's family estate was next to Enjolras's.

"And of course my parents are horrified that she is following in my footsteps instead of my older brothers and sister." said Enjolras, with a rare hint of youthful joy showing in his face. Indeed, it was incredible to see him so bright and cheerful. He'd been so solemn for so many months that many of them had almost forgotten what he was like when he laughed.

"I still remember their faces when René brought her home that kitten." Combeferre chuckled. "I've never laughed so much in all my life."

"Do I sense an anecdote approaching?" grinned Joly as they sat down at the table. "Go on, Julien. Tell us about it."

"Well, when my brother René was studying in Paris, he used to come home for a weekend once every month." Enjolras began. "And on one occasion he announced that he had a surprise for Christine, my youngest sister. It turned out to be a kitten."

"A little silver and black stripy one." interjected Combeferre. "It was tiny – barely a handful. I was staying at Julien's that weekend."

"She was only six or seven at the time." continued Enjolras, grinning. "So, as you can imagine, she was delighted with it. She sat and petted it for hours, beaming from ear to ear. And then, just before she went to bed, René asked her 'What are you going to call him, ma petite?'"

"And she said 'Robespierre'!" Combeferre exploded with laughter, leaning back in his chair. "Oh God, I wish you could have seen Julien's parents! Their faces! It was priceless!" Suddenly, the little room was full of friendly laughter.

"Poor Christine, she couldn't work out what she'd done wrong!" laughed Enjolras helplessly, pushing a loose strand of hair back. "It took the threat of the kitten being sent away altogether before she would change its name."

"Were you teaching her about the revolution at the age of six?" inquired Prouvaire, tears of mirth running down his face.

"Of course not!" said Enjolras. "She'd had a nightmare a night or two before and she came running through to me. I was lying in bed reading a book on the revolution – one of the ones that we smuggled out of your father's study, Etienne – when she came into my room. She was terrified and she wanted to stay with me so I went to hide the book away again. She asked what I was reading about and I told her it was about a man called Robespierre. She wanted to hear a story about him, but I could hardly tell her about him being guillotined when she was frightened already, so I just told her that he was a brave hero."

"And she named her kitten after him!" laughed Courfeyrac uncontrollably. "Oh God, that's funny!"

"How Julien and I managed to keep straight faces in front of his father is beyond me!" grinned Combeferre. "His face was such a picture!"

"I know!" chuckled Enjolras. "And of course, they decided that I was the one to blame. Do remember what he…"

Suddenly, the door of the back room opened and Luc Grantaire crossed over the threshold.

And, as quick as a flash, the laughter died from Enjolras's face. His bright eyes hardened and his eyebrows shot down. The dazzling smile that had lit up his face only moments before disappeared, to be replaced with a glower of anger and disgust that could turn a person to stone.


To be continued...