Combeferre flipped through his text, but his heart wasn't in it. The words held no meaning, his thoughts refused to coalesce properly on his material. Finally, he surrendered and dropped his head onto the book. There'd been no sleep last night. Not since meeting Grantaire and Grantaire's … ailment. If that was the correct word for such a thing. Grantaire himself hadn't seemed too put out by his affliction, only by Combeferre's own presence, and had ordered them out. Well no, he'd ordered Combeferre out, and explicitly welcomed Enjolras to stay.

Enjolras. That was another problem. Thankfully, Enjolras hadn't said "I told you so," he was far too dignified and earnest to even think of the words. He had talked the entire walk back to Combeferre's flat and well into the night about his new friend and how interested Alphonse was in their cause, and what ideas he had to contribute. Halfway through his monologue, Combeferre had started to feel a bit jealous of a talking penis, and had to scold himself harshly for his errant thought. At the end of it, he'd taken Combeferre's hand and asked him to hold off on running any invasive interrogations or experiments, arguing that Alphonse was a sentient being who deserved respect. Faced with those bright blue eyes, as trusting and warm as they always were when they looked at him, Combeferre had agreed. And Enjolras' smile had temporarily chased away his worries. Enjolras wouldn't be pleased if Combeferre harmed Alphonse, or Grantaire for that matter, and Combeferre hated to upset him.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting face down on his book, when a soft touch to his shoulder startled him out of his musings. Courfeyrac looked down at him, concern and laughter warring on his face.

"Did I wake you? It's not often I get to find you asleep on the job! Nothing too taxing, I trust?"

Combeferre just heaved a sigh, and Courfeyrac slid into the seat opposite him. "All right, what's wrong? You really are not acting yourself!"

"Enjolras," Combeferre muttered before he could stop himself. Damn. Courfeyrac's concern deepened.

"He's not sick, is he? Or has our dear angel decided on some explosive political demonstration that you deem unnecessarily flashy?"

"Neither one," Combeferre answered, a bit testily, then he softened. "Sorry, I'm just tired. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"Don't be sorry. Tell me what's wrong."

Combeferre bit his lip, weighing his options. Finally, "Can I trust you to keep a secret?"

A wide grin split Courfeyrac's face before he composed himself. "Certainly, dear fellow! To the grave!"

Another sigh. How to put this? "Have you noticed anything different about Enjolras and Grantaire?"

Courfeyrac furrowed his brow in thought, "No, can't say I have, really. Well, all right, Enjolras sometimes seems more relaxed around Capital R, who of course, moons after Enjolras as always. What are you trying to say?"

Combeferre nodded. Courfeyrac was very observant and intuitive about people, and if he said that there hadn't been any great shift in Enjolras' and Grantaire's daily interaction, then Combeferre could at least take comfort in knowing that he hadn't missed any extremely visible sign. "It seems that. It all sounds so ridiculous, but I've seen it myself now. It's happened that Grantaire, um, Grantaire's. Ugh, fine, I'll just say it! Grantaire's erection can speak."

Courfeyrac blinked wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

Slowly and precisely, "Grantaire's erection has somehow acquired the power of speech. And thought. And it declares itself to be a Republican in spir-," He cut off as Courfeyrac fell out of his chair laughing.

Combeferre waited as his friend writhed on the floor in mirth. He couldn't blame Courfeyrac for his reaction, but it was a tad irritating.

Gasping for breath, "I-I'm sorry! One m-moment, ppplease!" After several minutes, Courfeyrac finally calmed down enough to speak in longer phrases. "You did just say that Grantaire's cock can talk, right? Did I hear you correctly? And is Republican?"

Impatiently, "Yes, you heard correctly. I know it sounds downright ludicrous, but, from what I saw last night, it does speak. I haven't heard it speak anything of substance yet, but Enjolras is quite taken with it."

That set Courfeyrac off again. "Wwwait! You've seen Grantaire's erection? Why? How? And Enjolras? Our Enjolras? What do you mean, taken with it?"

"Enjolras informed me of this development, he was quite enthusiastic. He fairly dragged me to Grantaire last night. It spoke to me. Then, I, um, experimentally poked it with my finger, and both the penis and Grantaire protested. Simultaneously, in two distinct voices. Unfortunately, I was stopped from experimenting further."

Courfeyrac dissolved once more into peals of laughter, and Combeferre dropped his forehead back onto his book.

"You've been unusually snappish lately. What's wrong?"

Grantaire grunted in response to Jehan's question. Unfortunately, he knew the poet spoke the truth. He had been on edge and irritable ever since Combeferre's unexpected arrival at his apartment. Combeferre himself was keeping a surprising distance. Grantaire had been dreading being poked (again!) and prodded, ostensibly in the name of science; he wouldn't put it past the other to recommend castration, as the best cure for his "affliction"! So far Combeferre hadn't barged down his door, wielding an array of scary-looking instruments, but that didn't prevent Grantaire's absinthe-spurred imagination from running amok. No, he was certain that Combeferre would be back, eager to learn new scientific mysteries, and punish Grantaire for involving his friend. He needed allies.

Jehan filled two glasses with wine and pushed one toward Grantaire. "Here, drink this, then tell me why you snarled at poor Lesgles yesterday. You know he can't help it when he knocks over your bottles, and you've never minded before."

Jehan would understand. Yes, Jehan, with his distaste for conventional normality and his adoration of all things mysterious, would easily accept his new oddity, and might even be able to offer some insight, some arcane bit of lore he'd picked up from his poetry.

"Jehan, my friend, may I confide in you a secret?"

Jehan, lovely, sweet little Jehan, leaned forward, all concerned, genuine compassion. "Of course you can. Are you ill?"

"Not exactly ill. But I do have a slight. Problem is too strong a word. You see, one day, I made an incredible discovery. I was reminiscing about a night of fun with a sweet grisette - gorgeous young thing, and so eager to please! She had a very talented tongue, and that wasn't her only skill! Well, I was daydreaming of her, when all of a sudden, my erection spoke to me. Literally. I was shocked, but it kept talking, even when I pinched myself or dunked my head in a bucket of cold water. Now, every time I am hard, it gains its own mind and speech. We hold the most fascinating conversations, but it does mean that I have not been gracing the local girls with my company anymore."

Jehan gawked, wide-eyed and enthralled. Grantaire had always had a gift for story-telling. "How long has this been happening? Do you know why your erection can speak? Does anyone else know about this? Does it ever happen when you are not hard?"

Grantaire chuckled at the stream of questions. "Maybe a month. And no, I have no idea. Capital R only comes to life when hard, it must be the increased flow of blood to its head. And, Enjolras knows. Capital R is decidedly opinionated, and he has a strong fondness for a Republic. I thought Enjolras might be interested."

Jehan had taken a gulp of his wine, and now spat the liquid back out. Ignoring the spray of alcohol across his face, Grantaire reached over and thumped his sputtering companion on the back. Jehan coughed for a minute, then managed to gasp out, "Now you're making up stories! Enjolras? What did he say?"

"He befriended Capital R quite quickly. It's been lovely having him visit," Grantaire smiled dreamily, remembering the way Enjolras liked to curl up against his legs and talk deep into the night while Grantaire pet his hair.

Jehan shook his head, but his smile was sincere. "My congratulations, then. I'm pleased for you. So, are we three the only ones in the know?"

Grantaire's expression darkened as he remembered his problem. "Not quite. Combeferre knows now - Enjolras told him. And now he can't decide whether he wants to strap me to his experiment table and run wild with his toys, or just shoot me for involving Enjolras."

Grantaire had hoped for a little commiseration from the soft-hearted poet. An indignantly impassioned defense would also have been welcome and gratifying. Instead, Jehan laughed his delight.

"So that's why Combeferre has been so down the past few days! I'd wondered! But don't worry, Grand-R. I'm sure he won't harm you. Although you might cheer him up if you allow him to run just one examination. I'll stay with you for it, if you'd like. But please, tell me more about this. It's fascinating!"

With a smile, Grantaire poured some more wine and launched into a detailed story of his new life with Capital R.

"Erm, Joly, might I have a minute?" Jehan asked, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Joly paused his conversation with Bossuet, to scrutinize the poet. "Of course! You're ill, aren't you? Simultaneously pale and flushed, and you must be having vision problems if you're wearing orange and purple together like that! Sit down and let me feel your forehead, there's been a horrible outbreak of influenza going around. Stick out your tongue!"

"No, no, I'm not ill! Nothing like that, I just. Need your medical expertise for a question - completely unrelated to me. And, I'd like to ask you and our Eagle to keep this matter between us, if it's not too much." Jehan sat anyway and let Joly feel his cheeks and forehead and examine his tongue, just to ease his mind.

"Alright, you're not feverish yet. What can I do for you? Promise Bossuet and I can keep a secret!"

Jehan looked down at the table for a moment, unsure how to begin. He felt terrible about breaking Grantaire's confidence, but he simply had to know that there was nothing medically wrong with him.

"It's about Grantaire. Recently, he's acquired the most extraordinary ability! His member has developed a life and tongue of its own! Well, I don't think it has a literal tongue, but it can speak. I haven't seen this marvel yet, but Grantaire didn't say it had an actual tongue. I just want to make sure — why are you laughing?"

Bossuet was by now bent over double in merriment, while Joly's brows were drawn together in a serious frown.

Still laughing, Bossuet panted, "How much absinthe had Grantaire imbibed? Or how drunk were you? Are you sure he wasn't, you know, rambling on about symbols or gods or some such? You know Grantaire, he can be worse than Enjolras about his mythology. At least Enjolras' metaphors have a point! Perhaps Grantaire just meant that he'd found greater communion, shall we say, with his girls!"

Hurt, Jehan shook his head. "No! He meant it seriously! He wasn't more drunk than usual, and I wasn't drunk at all! It's a wonderful thing, I just want to make sure that it doesn't come with a catch."

From Joly, "It's not a good thing, at all! I haven't heard anything like it, but it's not good. He could be permanently hallucinating from all his spirits. Or, he could have contracted some horrible malady that manifests itself in a talking penis. Or in a mind that believes it's attached to a talking penis. I must see him!"

"Bonjour, mes amis!" Courfeyrac sailed through the door and plopped himself down at the table.

"Why so glum, boys? Did the enchanting Musichetta decide that she wanted a more normal lovelife?"

Joly and Bossuet turned matching scowls on him, and Courfeyrac raised his hands in mock surrender. "All right, apparently not! So, what's happened?"

Jehan shook his head fervently, "Oh, no! My sincerest apologies, Courfeyrac. This is a rather more sensitive matter than can handle you right now! It calls for delicacy and discretion now. Be patient, and I'm sure we'll be seeking your advice soon."

Courfeyrac unfurled a knowing grin and asked, "This wouldn't have anything to do with our dear cynic, would it?"

"He told you?" Jehan asked, sounding slightly disappointed, and Courfeyrac demurred.

"Not Grantaire. Combeferre told me. He's inordinately disgruntled about it all."

"Ahh. I told Grantaire that if he would just let Combeferre examine him, then Combeferre might be happy."

At that, Bossuet winced in apparent sympathy with Grantaire, and Joly's eyes lit up. "If Grand-R agrees, I would love to assist Combeferre!"

Bossuet doubled over and clutched his own package protectively, horrified, and Courfeyrac laughed.

"That's very wise advice, Jehan, and a very kind offer, Jolllly, but scientific frustration isn't the root of Combeferre's ill humor. Instead, he seems more put out by Enjolras' involvement. I think he'll only be happy once our revolutionary angel is well away from Capital R."

"Grantaire seemed afraid that Combeferre would shoot him," put in Jehan, and Courfeyrac shrugged,

"No doubt, Combeferre would like to!"

"So what do we do?" asked Joly dubiously.

Courfeyrac's wide grin soothed none of their nerves.

"Go to the one reliable source in this affair. Enjolras."

"No! Absolutely no!" protested Bossuet. "If you think I'm going to Enjolras and saying the words Grantaire's talking cock to his face, you've lost one too many tussles with Bahorel, my friend."

"Come now, L'Aigle," Courfeyrac wheedled, "You all know this is the best way. We won't get anything more from Grantaire or Combeferre. All they'll do is rave and rant about Enjolras, anyway. Enjolras also has the answers, and he's the one most likely to give them to us. And if Enjolras has no idea of what we speak, then we know that Grantaire should really be cut off from any more alcohol, and Combeferre should step away from his moth collection and dead body parts, and get some more air."

They were gathered in the doorway to the Musain's back room, too nervous, with one obvious exception, to approach their target. "Courfeyrac, I really don't think this is a good idea!" Joly hissed.

His friend swatted him good-naturedly. "Nonsense, this is the perfect solution! Combeferre is currently too touchy - did you know he got annoyed at my reaction? - and Grantaire, though I love the fellow, is rather unreliable as a source of information. Enjolras is neither."

"And if Enjolras confirms this strange tale?" asked Bossuet.

Courfeyrac started to respond, to be cut off by Jehan's nudge. Enjolras, seated in his usual table surrounded by a pile of papers and books, was staring at them in mingled curiosity and concern, head cocked just slightly to the side.

Without raising his voice, he called out, "Gentlemen. Is there a problem?"

Courfeyrac strode forward, dragging Joly behind him, and slid into the seat next to Enjolras. "Problem is too strong a descriptor, my friend. But we do have a question for you, if you have a minute."

Enjolras nodded, acknowledging each in turn as the others gathered around his table. "Certainly. What can I do?"

Courfeyrac's smile probably aimed for friendly and casual, but managed to instead look thoroughly anticipatory. "I was speaking with Combeferre earlier. He told me of this remarkable … occurrence, shall we say … concerning one of our own. I must say that I expressed a rather disbelieving surprise, but further conversation seems to bear him out, and —"

Jiggling with nerves, Joly burst out, "Can Grantaire's prick really speak?"

Enjolras never batted an eye. "Yes, with its own mind."

With that affirmation, the floodgates opened, and a dozen questions flew, overlapping each other in their haste.

"Have you really spoken with it?"

"What's it like?"

"Combeferre is very put out, you do realize."

"Is Grantaire well? Would he allow us to examine him?"

"How did you ever discover this in the first place, Enjolras?"

"Have you talked with Grantaire since Combeferre was brought in the know?"

"Is it really Republican? What does Grantaire think of that? Does he now believe in our work?"

"Will Combeferre really shoot Grantaire?"

"How could you not tell me this? Really, Enjolras, I have to find out from Combeferre?"

Setting down his pen and capping his ink, Enjolras listened patiently until his friends ran out of breath. Then, "Courfeyrac, stop pouting. It was not my place to tell you yet. No, Jehan, Combeferre will not shoot Grantaire, I promise you. Grantaire seems well, although his own feelings about our endeavor have not changed. I don't know, Joly, if he would be amenable to an examination, he didn't seem inclined to want Combeferre to experiment on him. As for Combeferre, I know he's dubious about this development, he's simply being cautious. Once he sees the potential good in this, he'll come around."

Courfeyrac snorted indelicately. "He's jealous."

Enjolras turned on him a stern look, "You do him a disservice. Now, anything else?"

"Does it have a name?" Courfeyrac asked, realizing that the conversation about Combeferre was going nowhere anytime soon.

"Yes, he likes Alphonse. Although Grantaire calls him Capital R."

"So," Jehan ventured, "Grantaire's smaller head really does want to restore the Republic?"

Enjolras softened, "Indeed, and he has some interesting ideas. If Grantaire agrees, maybe he can join our discussions."

Bossuet laughed. "Maybe if we have Alphonse speak to the government, the king will regard it as a divine miracle, and step down!"

Enjolras shot him a sharp look, but a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps. The divine will made manifest. Grantaire might take issue with that, though."

Draping an arm over Enjolras' shoulders, Courfeyrac smiled cajolingly. "So. I'll forgive you for keeping this insanely interesting tidbit to yourself, if you'll tell us more about Alphonse now."