A/N: Here's the second chapter this week since 3 was quite short. Thank you all for the reviews and comments! Oh - and as I think I failed to mention - titles come from Dickens' Tale of Two Cities, another influence in the development of Capitain Scaramouche.

For the last month, mes amis, we've barely spoken. No, not a word of general cordiality has passed between us, and I know I'm commonly the peace-maker but how does a man make peace between his own self and several of his Once We Were Very Good Friends I Think? No, they hadn't spoken and Dom had been more than angry, he'd been sulky and grouchy and no real fun, and had refused to play dominoes or billiards or anything good natured, hadn't wanted to go to dances and had to be dragged along to somewhere decent to get clothes Dominic Bahorel you are not going to the ball with me and ma femme like that. And then he would drink a bit and look happier for a while but mostly he wasn't happy.

And dieu bless us all, Luc Courfeyrac - who really did not appreciate how often that damned particle was being shot at his head - picked a side and when he did pick a side, he damned well stayed with that side. The Cause is my Cause, vive La France, and fraternity between us two forever, and all that.

So now Dominic looked like a raw side of beef all mangled for roasting and didn't seem to mind... well. Well really it just didn't seem to make much sense. It did, of course, make complete sense in other ways - since Dominic was like this. Luckily they didn't argue often because the preferred method in Bahorel's mind of working out such differences was to slug each other, and Luc liked his nose the shape it was thank you ever so very kindly. Not, of course, that he was opposed to fighting in general, but knowing Dominic - his nose would be the first thing that idiot would punch for.

He found himself making a very inelegant spluttering noise, and stopped. Grantaire was standing off to one side relatively none-the-worse for wear, raising a surprised and ever-so-cool eyebrow in their direction and flanked by his hangers-on like he was some incarnation of Louise 16th. And you know what, mes amis? We have some pride. You all are such special mille-feuilles now, aren't you? All so very special and shiny and better than the rest of us, eh?

And Grantaire there something like your god now, isn't he? You do whatever he says and cluster around like he brings the words of Le Bon Dieu in his mouth instead of yesterday's wine. Oh oui, now he's something of a hero everyone wants him. You've all forgotten that he was the drunk in the corner two months back annoying Enjolras with his thirteenth classical quotation and flirting with Louisson. You've forgotten, but we haven't.

M. Spectacles came forwards and crouched near Dominic. "Here... let me take a look at that, Bahorel."

"Suit y'sef," Dom said wetly and indistinctly, and Lucien caught a series of confused and bewildered glances being shared by the damned League, as though they were asking 'why whatever is the strange species of Frenchman that is Dominic Bahorel doing? We have studied his habits and this seems most irregular!'

Damn them.

"Hmmm," Combeferre was saying. "It's busted. Want me to fix it?"

"May's well." Dom set his teeth and Luc winced in sympathy. His own nose had never been broken, but Dom himself had described it as being like having onions in your eyes, a weight across your face and a damn huge pain like your nose is five times bigger and on fire from the inside. Ouch. Luc put a hand on his friend's shoulder just in case, and Combeferre made a swift skillful movement of his hands. There was a sick, moist crunching noise, and Dominic grunted a little.

Lucien winced again, oh dieu, and passed Combeferre his handkerchief - a present from what-ever-her-name-was last year. Combeferre ignored the embroidered blue flowers with his usual impassivity, and cleaned off Dominic's face as best he could.

"Fangs..." Dominic said.

Combeferre nodded, and gave him a quick checking over. "Well, you've nothing else broken - for which I'd say you're rather lucky."

"Mm-hm."

This judgement proclaimed, M. Eye-glasses and Stethescope straightened and fixed every single last homme in the room in turn with his gimlet eye and dieu, mon ami, what I wouldn't give to be able to replicate that look. "Well now. Is this little soiree finished? Are my services going to be required again?"

The League looked, naturally to their winecask, and Lucien found Dominic looking at him. Hey - mon ami - you said you were finished, so you're finished. I'm not arguing here. He shrugged in a 'unless you want me to fight, cher, I'm just going to make sure you get home safe' way, and Dominic dear god of all people looked in his turn to M. My Feet Don't Touch The Ground Anymore Grantaire for confirmation.

Grantaire seemed completely unaware of the irony of the situation. "Quite finished, thank you Combeferre." His little group of admirers looked unhappy about this, but didn't argue - oh no let's not argue. He might smite you with a thunderbolt.

"Very well then," Combeferre smiled and tipped his hat. "I will see you some other time, Glorious Leader." And with that spectacular exit line, Combeferre left.

For a long series of moments there was silence as everyone tried to decide whether or not Grantaire had just been almost sort of compared to Enjolras or not. Because really - dear god in heaven the world might just decide to stop in its tracks and turn upside down.

"Damn," Grantaire chuckled a little suddenly. "If even he agrees..."

"Told you so."

"About time you listened."

"We should call Combeferre in more often."

It was like a chorus - a Greek chorus, to defer to Grantaire's preferences in mythology - and Lucien found himself still stuck back on the first sentence trying to understand what the hell Grantaire meant by that even as the group of happy little musketeers headed for the door, their leader linking arms with them.

"I cede, I cede. Well, now that the evening's excitement is over, shall we go to Marie's for dinner?"

Lesgle laughed. "You're the captain."

"Hear, hear!" Joly added with a grin.

Grataire shook his head, showing that he had at least some sense of self-awareness left. "This is going to take some getting used to."

"Not that much," Feuilly said firmly.

They left, Lesgle adding "We'll keep reminding you until you stop flinching," and Grantaire laughing. God - damn. What was going on?

The blasphemy pared itself in two before escaping his mouth in dutiful obedience to mother and religious upbringing. "Damn."

Dominic shook his head in mute agreement.

"How much damage'd he do?" Luc sat finally, blinking a bit to let his brain catch up.

"Broke m'nose," Dominic's speech was still thick, but they both had practice with that so Lucien mentally translated the indistinct vowels and consonents. "Think m'ribs are bruised... ears're ringing from getting m'head boxed like that."

"Damn," Luc said again in sympathetic understaning, and scowled for him because Dominic couldn't scowl right now. It was a sort of agreement they had where Luc would facially express Dominic's emotions when his face was too swollen to do so.

A tentative shake of the head. "'ve had worse."

"You say that every time," Luc grinned a bit. Yes ami, you really do. Every single time, but damn. "Bastard." Not you. Him. You know.

Dominic gave a small twist up of his lips. "Nah... he's not so bad."

And there we have it. Luc sat back and wasn't sure what to say - a phenonemon - but Dieu, ami. I was afraid of this. Not that it's a bad thing you're moving on - but ami not everyone works this way. Not everyone thinks it's all over and done once a few blows have been shared, 'n fact a few people'd say it makes your worse friends, not better. "...how hard'd you hit your head, amigo?"

"Hard enough."

"Dom..." Oh ami. Ami, ami. Dear god, just think for a minute. Think, we've been at odds wi' the homme for a month no less and we've said all sorts and he's said all sorts and hell not everyone thinks a fist in the face washes our sins as white as the Christos' blood. "I don't know if you can come around. I think it might be too late."

There was a shrug in reply, and it was useless. The idiot was fully intending to try and forget it all anyway. Hell - fine. It's over. We'll see how that works. B'sides. It's weird being mad at people for so long. "Just so's you've thought about th' possibility." And that's all I'm going to say on the subject. "...Come on you big imbecile. I'll help you home, eh?"

"That'd be helpful." Dom got up with a deep groan. "Augh. Dieu, that's going to hurt in the morning."

Luc laughed. "Oh yes, but think of how pretty you'll look! All the colours of the rainbow, amigo."

"True... true..." Dom gave a chuckle - the first one in a while that was. Not that he didn't laugh, but chuckling was another matter. "Almost like a painting."

So we're happy for now, ami. Fine - let me help you home and we'll see whether or not M. Glorious Leader there is as easy to convince as you are, eh? I doubt it myself, but it's worth being a touch optimistic about such things sometimes.