Chapter 6 : A Gout on this Pox or a Pox on this Gout
"'Jol? 'Jol." Combeferre's gentle shaking awakens Enjolras to a dark room. "Sorry to wake you. You can go straight back to sleep."
"It's fine...what is it?" He sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Call phone went off. I've been called in."
"Ah. I'm on Courfeyrac duty?"
"Yeah. I shouldn't be more than a few hours."
"Go, go. We'll be fine."
"Call me if that migraine makes an appearance. I mean it , 'Jol. If you're not feeling well, ignoring it is the worst thing you can do."
"I know. I know. I will. I promise."
"Good."
"What time is it?"
"Too early. 'Fey won't be awake for hours. Go back to sleep."
Enjolras lets Combeferre push him back down and feels a quick squeeze to his hand and a kiss pressed to his forehead. "Have fun." He murmurs, already halfway back to sleep before Combeferre is out the door.
Enjolras manages to get back to sleep, but it isn't for long; dawn breaks through his window, casting the room in a bright glow. This is fairly customary for him, an early riser by nature, but as he has nowhere to be today he stretches and rolls on to his back to think for a while.
Most of the time, he enjoys these early mornings, quiet, peaceful, and his, alone with his thoughts. Occasionally, he rues his inability to sleep in, particularly after late nights when he's tired or when he's trying to evade a migraine. Today though, he is pleased to note that all signs of the migraine which threatened last night have faded; Combeferre's magic worked so he can revel in drifting around in his own mind, without the looming expectation of things to do that day. It's a Saturday, and as much as he loves his job, even he needs a break and he has to admit it isn't quite as much fun with Courfeyrac off sick and so the only expectation of him today is to look after him.
He so far lost in his thoughts that he starts violently when the door to his room creaks open. Combeferre surely can't be home already. But it's Courfeyrac, hovering in the doorway shivering slightly in his thin pyjamas.
"'Fey? What's the matter?"
"Can't sleep." He says, but exhaustion warps his normally warm, good-natured tone.
"Come here." Enjolras flips his duvet back and reaches out for Courfeyrac's hand, pulling him down onto the bed.
Courfeyrac climbs in and Enjolras wraps an arm around him; he tucks Courfeyrac's head under his chin, resting on his shoulder. "Did you have a nightmare?" He asks, feeling Courfeyrac's forehead as he brushes brown curls out of his eyes, wondering if the fever is giving him strange dreams.
Courfeyrac shakes his head, pressing his face into Enjolras' chest. "No. I think I slept too much yesterday. Can't sleep now. Just feel…" he huffs out a breath.
"Poorly?" Enjolras finishes for him.
"Yeah." Courfeyrac sighs, his misery very clearly legitimate and entirely devoid of any sense of feigned melodrama.
Enjolras smiles slightly to himself, imagining how Courfeyrac might have been as an ill child.
"Well, Combeferre's been called in to the hospital so it's just me and you until lunchtime. I'll try think of something to cheer you up."
Courfeyrac sniffs and wriggles closer to Enjolras.
"Cold?"
"Mmm, you're nice and warm though." Enjolras radiates heat, always has, as if his passion and enthusiasm burns in his veins, heating him up from the inside.
"Glad to know I have some use. Human radiator."
"You need to earn your keep somehow." Courfeyrac murmurs, rewarded with the vibration of a laugh reverberating through Enjolras' chest. "How's your head?" Courfeyrac asks after a minute.
"Hmm? Oh, fine. All better."
Courfeyrac cranes his neck and twists to try and see Enjolras' face, raising his eyebrows in disbelief, an expression he no doubt picked up from Combeferre. Enjolras tips his chin onto his chest and looks along his nose at Courfeyrac. "Really. It is. I'm fine, Courfeyrac. I promised Combeferre I'd take it easy if I felt so much as a twinge. We can look after each other, today, alright?"
Apparently satisfied, Courfeyrac rests his head back where it was and curls into Enjolras' side. Eventually, his breathing evens out and he sleeps. Enjolras shifts slightly to take the pressure off his back and lies still, fingers idly playing with Courfeyrac's hair. He doesn't even realise he's falling asleep until he feels himself sliding quickly out of consciousness, Courfeyrac's body warming his own.
He's sweating when he wakes, Courfeyrac still tucked against him and fast asleep, mouth slightly open.
Enjolras eases his arm out, rolling Courfeyrac gently off him because the heat is already making him feel claustrophobic.
He touches Courfeyrac's forehead lightly, and confirms what he suspected on account of his sweat soaked t- shirt, that Courfeyrac's temperature's up and he will have to check it properly as soon as he's awake.
But for now Enjolras leaves him asleep. He peels off his damp shirt, shivering slightly in the cool morning air and heads to the shower.
Courfeyrac hasn't woken up by the time Enjolras has finished, so he's left to find breakfast for himself and potter around. He finds a note from Combeferre on the kitchen table, reiterating his earlier instructions and then another on Courfeyrac's bedside table when he makes his bed for later on, this one reminding Courfeyrac not to let Enjolras push himself if he suspects the migraine is any worse, which explains his concern earlier that morning. It is so very typically Combeferre that Enjolras smiles, rolling his eyes.
He's debating the merits of making coffee when he hears coughing coming from his room and finds Courfeyrac on his front, leaning up on his elbows, shoulder blades spasming with each cough.
Courfeyrac clearly doesn't notice his presence; he jumps when Enjolras sits beside him and puts a hand between his shoulder blades.
"Christ. 'Jol. You scared me."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Do you want a glass of water?"
Courfeyrac nods, one hand massaging his throat. Enjolras frowns to himself as he fetches a glass of water; Courfeyrac sounds hoarse, which he didn't recall from that morning though he'd been speaking in a whisper then.
Courfeyrac takes a long drink gratefully, passing the glass back to Enjolras and flopping backwards into the pillows. "Thank you. And for last night..." He scratches irritably at his belly for moment and then stops himself, tucking his fingers under his thigh at a look from Enjolras.
"What I'm here for. You sound a bit hoarse, actually. Are you alright?" Enjolras asks, reaching for his forehead.
Courfeyrac bats his hand away, glaring with irritation and fever. "Just wonderful, ta. I caught the chicken pox, Enjolras, I'm hot and itchy and feel like death. No I'm not bloody alright."
The hurt flashes across Enjolras' face, disappearing before Courfeyrac registers it, but he knows what he's said and he's immediately sorry, annoyed at himself for being so bad tempered.
"'Jol...'Jol. I'm sorry."
But Enjolras isn't the sort of person to be vindictive or retaliate so petulantly, and certainly not in light of a momentary snap of Courfeyrac's usually unshakeable good humour, which is really what makes it such a shock.
"It's alright. It's not nice, being ill, I know." He takes Courfeyrac's hand to let him know he doesn't mind.
"I'm still sorry. Silly, throwing a tantrum like that."
"I'd hardly call it a tantrum."
Courfeyrac shrugs. "Still though. I'm sorry."
"You're practically a kitten in comparison to me, if I'm to believe even half of the stories you all tease me with."
"We only tease you because we love you. And only when you're all better."
Enjolras raises an eyebrow.
"Alright, well mostly better. And you're not that bad, not once we've got you to admit you're ill. It's just getting to that point is like pulling teeth."
Enjolras colours a little, causing laughter to bubble forth from Courfeyrac, which puts Enjolras a little more at ease.
"The last time, you made such a fuss about having your temperature taken we had to pin you down."
Colour flood Enjolras' cheeks in embarrassment now. "I still haven't forgiven you for that. It wasn't necessary."
"Oh no, flushed red with fever and sneezing like it's going out of fashion. You weren't ill at all. Oh! Oh. And you protesting in that stuffy little voice..." he bursts into fresh giggle at the memory.
"If you weren't ill I'd hit you." Enjolras says, dropping his head so his hair hides his face.
"But I am so you have to be nice to me."
"You reckon so?" Enjolras asks, one eyebrow raised. Courfeyrac grins and Enjolras returns the smile after a beat, glad to see a smidge of Coufeyrac's usual character surface. "Well, I've been left instructions, as to your care and maintenance, so I better get on with them. And I suspect I'll have a report to give over the phone before long so..."
"Dear Combeferre, he's such a worry wart. I have similar instructions regarding you."
"I know. I saw when I made your bed earlier."
Enjolras looks up to find Courfeyrac scrutinising him. "I was telling you the truth this morning. I swear I was. I'm not being difficult."
"Come here." Courfeyrac instructs, holding out his hands. Enjolras sighs and leans forward so Courferyac can take his face between his hands and look into his eyes. "Come on, 'Fey. I'm fine. Really. I was very good last night and promised Combeferre I'd take it easy if I had even a smidge of pain. But it's gone. All better. I keep my promises."
Courfeyrac nods and gives Enjolras' cheek a little pat as he releases him. "You do. Alright, I believe you. But promise me too you won't hide anything just because I'm ill."
Enjolras rolls his eyes but nods his promise, squeezing Courfeyrac's hand. "Enough of me. Your throat's sore? You really do sound hoarse." Enjolras asks.
Courfeyrac nods. "Really sore. And my glands feel huge. Hurts to swallow. It's horrible."
"Oh, bless you. I'll make you some tea, see if that helps."
Courfeyrac sniffles and looks absolutely miserable.
"Do you want to move back to your bed?" Enjolras asks. "Or stay in mine?"
"Stay here?" Courfeyrac says in a small and uncharacteristically shy voice. Enjolras nods, smiling slightly, and stands intending to fetch breakfast. "Where you going?" he asks, catching Enjolras' wrist.
"Tea, rememever. And to get you some breakfast."
Courfeyrac screws his nose up, but says nothing and lets Enjolras go.
Courfeyrac only picks at the cereal Enjolras coaxes him to eat, but manages most of the tea as it does help his throat.
"I had a thought, last night." Enjolras says, sitting on the end of the bed and arranging his long legs alongside where Courfeyrac's make a long lump under the covers.
"Sounds painful." Courfeyrac comments, swirling the spoon in his cereal.
Enjolras ignores the jibe and continues. "To say thank you to Combeferre for looking after us both the other day, I thought I'd make a nice dinner for him tonight."
"You. Make dinner. You."
"Alright, no need to be sarcastic about it. I'm well aware of my...deficiencies in the kitchen. I was planning on asking Grantaire to help me."
"Oh. That is a good idea, actually."
"Always the tone of surprise. So you don't mind me asking him to come over?"
"No, it's alright. I saw him and Jehan, yesterday. Jehan brought me flowers."
"Oh that's where they came from, although why I even wondered, I'm not sure. Are you finished with that? You're just playing with it now."
Courfeyrac nods, the horrible miserable expression falling back over his face again as he scratches first his arm and then his leg and then drops his hand with a look of abject dejection and frustration.
"Is there anything I can do to cheer you up? I can't stand to see you look so miserable." Enjolras says, taking both his hands as a distraction.
"Can you make the itching go away?" He asks plaintively.
"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. We have cream, which might help. And bringing your temperature down a bit." Enjolras presses his wrist to Courfeyrac's forehead. "Let me check properly?"
Courfeyrac agrees and lets Enjolras leave for a few minutes to fetch the thermometer, medicines and creams he's being given and a glass of water.
Enjolras' suspicions were right and Courfeyrac's temperature is higher than it has been while Enjolras has been looking after him, high enough to cause a swoop of worry to tighten in his belly. Courfeyrac must read the worry in his expression because he reaches over to squeeze one of Enjolras' hands.
"It'll come down with medicine." He says, taking the tablets Enjolras is already handing him. It hurts to swallow but he gets them down and drinks the whole glass of water at Enjolras' prompting.
"It's meant to be me comforting you, you know."
Courfeyrac grins, some semblance of his usual self surfacing in the expression for a moment. "You are a big comfort, 'jol. I swear. But sometimes I think you're more of a worry wart than Combeferre."
Enjolras feigns insult. "Heaven forbid," he replies, returning Courfeyrac's smile as the worry recedes a touch. He holds up a bottle of lotion. "This might help."
Courfeyrac nods, and begins to undo the buttons of his pajamas but his fingers feel clumsy and shaky so he quickly gives up, looking plaintively at Enjolras for help.
"Defeated by buttons." Courfeyrac bemoans, flopping back onto the pillows as Enjolras takes over, making short work of the buttons with nimble and deft fingers, not reduced to useless appendages by fever.
He watches Enjolras' hands as he dabs cream carefully and diligently over each spot, until the sight of his marred and disfigured torso starts to overwhelm him and he stares instead at Enjolras' focused expression. Enjolras has lovely hands, Courfeyrac has always thought, particularly so since being afflicted with this god forsaken illness. He hadn't noticed before how wonderfully cool they are when he is feeling hot and bothered, but warm when he's chilled, always obliging when he aches for a warm hand to rub his back.
He smiles now, as those fingers dance carefully and gingerly across his face, dotting cream here and there. He watches them, drawing a quizzical expression from Enjolras as he goes cross eyed trying to focus on his fingers as they dab cream on the spot on his nose which particularly annoys him, as he can see it in the corner of his eye. He goes back to Enjolras' face then, studying the line between Enjolras' eyebrows as he frowns in concentration. He watches as it smoothes out to leave barely a trace of itself when Enjolras' face relaxes for a moment as he considers Courfeyrac's face in return, on the hunt for any uncreamed spots. Courferyac is fond of this line because it gives him some sense of what Enjolras might look like as he ages, how those beautiful and angelic features might mature into a noble and wise countenance. He can see his future friend in that line, the creases which appear around his eyes when he smiles which might one day give way to wrinkles.
"What?" Enjolras asks, pausing, cream threatening to drip from his crooked middle finger as he regards Courfeyrac curiously, aware of the scrutiny now.
Courfeyrac smiles, "Nothing."
Enjolras quirks an eyebrow, and resumes his work. Courfeyrac returns to his staring, and musing, chuckling as Enjolras meets his gaze occasionally, blushing at first, but then shaking his head ruefully entirely accustomed to his friend's oddities.
Courfeyrac knows he himself is handsome, dark hair and green eyes framed by equally dark eyelashes, and he also knows their looks have had an impact on their meteoric rise through the ranks of the law firm for which they work. It is nothing in comparison to their intelligence, their passion for justice and the law and their disarming charm but wicked good looks and youthful faces have helped to mark them out as the wunderkinds of the law world, this angelic and fair boy of a man, with eyes that burn with electricity and fire, framed by deceptively delicate features and this dark, wickedly handsome man, strong masculine jaw and mischief dancing in emerald eyes which can turn as hard as diamond in seconds. They make a striking pair, Enjolras, fair, light and unattainable where Courfeyrac is dark, wicked and inviting and many an opposing council has underestimated them, to their own downfall. They work astoundingly well together, partners in crime, for all it is a horrendous joke, the dynamic duo, complimenting and correcting each other in seamless harmony. Intense and subtle in equal measure, long years of friendship have perfected their interactions to a fine art, and it is a game, an intricate dance to which only they know the steps, to bewitch and entrance the opposition, their clients, the judge, jury and their own colleagues. Courfeyrac has no doubt in his mind that should they so choose, they could take over the world.
"You're grinning." Enjolras remarks. "Why are you grinning?"
"Because we're brilliant. Did you know that?"
Enjolras grins too, instantly on his wavelength. "I had some inkling, yes."
Enjolras finishes his face and tugs Courfeyrac upright to sit up so he can treat his back, handing Courfeyrac the bottle and clambering onto the bed himself to sit cross legged behind Courfeyrac as he does so.
"I brought a few cases home with me yesterday, in case you feel up to discussing them." Enjolras says. "We don't have anything pressing however, and I think Combeferre would rather you didn't, but if you need a distraction..."
"Thanks 'jol. Maybe. I'm bored out of my mind already, but I'm not sure I could switch my legal brain on without melting it."
"Of course." Enjolras says, trying his utmost not to sound disappointed. He is actually relieved; he and Courfeyrac are fiercely passionate and dedicated to their work so their discussions often become lively and animated, and it wouldn't do at all to get Courfeyrac worked up in his current state.
"You've missed me." Courfeyrac says, gleefully.
"How could I miss you? I've only been to work alone for a day since you've been ill."
"You've missed me!" Courferyac sing songs.
Enjolras grows quiet for a moment before replying. "Maybe I have. I'm just looking forward to you getting better, not just because I hate to see you feeling so poorly, what's the matter with that?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Courfeyrac replies as Enjolras finishes with his back and pulls his pajama top back on. He is smiling as he thinks, once again, how much Enjolras is really just a big sop, fierce and intense on the surface, but loves his friends so deeply it hurts him.
"All done." Enjolras announces as he does up the last button on Courfeyrac's top, "Does that feel a bit better?" He asks, rearranging Courfeyrac's hair for him so it doesn't catch in the patches of cream on his face while they dry.
Courfeyrac nods feeling much more comfortable now and settles back into the mound of pillows Enjolras stacked behind him. He's starting to feel slightly cold now; Enjolras must see him shiver as he shifts onto his knees to reach the comforter at the end of the bed and pull it up and over Courfeyrac.
Courfeyrac smiles gratefully, nuzzling into Enjolras' touch as he traces the back of his fingers lightly over his cheeks before making Enjolras jump with a sudden cough he wasn't expecting, bringing his hand to his mouth just in time.
"Oh dear." Enjolras says, passing Courfeyrac a glass of water once he's finished coughing. Courfeyrac smiles slightly; it is a rather Combeferrian thing to say and it is amusing to hear Enjolras mimic him. "Better?"
"Yeah." Courfeyrac mumbles softly, grimacing at the pain which flares in his throat as he speaks and swallows.
Enjolras grimaces too, in sympathy. "Would you like another cup of tea? For your sore throat?"
Courfeyrac shakes his head and grabs Enjolras' hand. "Will you just stay here for a bit?"
Enjolras blinks for a moment, then nods. "Yes. Yes of course."
Courfeyracs tugs on his hand until Enjolras gets the hint and, smiling, lies down next to him. Courfeyrac wriggles around for a minute, until he can settle himself with his head resting on Enjolras' chest and wrap his arm over his middle and hold on tight, lest he have any ideas of wriggling away and escaping.
Enjolras is stiff for a moment, slightly surprised at this sudden cuddliness, but chuckles and relaxes, resting his chin into Courfeyrac's curls. "Comfy there?" he asks, amusement colouring his voice.
Courfeyrac nods into his chest, burrowing his hands under Enjolras' clothes to warm his hands on his skin.
"'Fey!" Enjolras gasps as his cold fingers brush against his skin, "Your hands are like ice."
"S'ry." Courfeyrac mumbles. The blasted itching has abated and he's feeling sleepy, warming himself on the heat Enjolras exudes, but he retracts his fingers, bunching them instead into the fabric of Enjolras' jumper.
"No...it's alright. I was just surprised. Here..." He reaches down and presses Courfeyrac's hands against his ribs again, still hissing and stiffening for a moment at the cold, relaxing again as he gets used to it.
Courfeyrac sighs, contented, as a kiss is pressed to his hair. "Try to sleep then. I need to call Grantaire at some point though, so you might have to let me up." Enjolras murmurs. "Not yet, not yet..." he adds quickly at Courfeyrac's noise of objection and brief tightening of his embrace.
He waits until he's sure Courfeyrac has fallen asleep, snuffling softly into his jumper before fumbling for his phone under the pillow where it's been since he fell asleep the night before.
"Enjolras. Hi." Grantaire's voice says after a few rings.
"Hi Grantaire. Are you busy?" he whispers, wary of waking the sleeping heap of Courfeyrac.
"Should I ask why before answering? And why are you whispering?" Grantaire asks, now whispering too.
"Courfeyrac is asleep on me."
"Ah. I assume you're on pox watch?" Grantaire replies, sounding amused.
"You assume correctly."
"Poor bloke. So, no, I'm not busy. What's up?"
"I'd like to ask a favour. But it's nothing too onerous."
"Well, ask away, I am free as a bird until tonight, I am at your service."
Enjolras laugh quietly at Grantaire affectations and asks, "I need your culinary expertise. I want to make Combeferre a really grand dinner and..."
"You don't want to give him food poisoning?"
"Hey, come on. I'm not that bad." He mutters something Grantaire doesn't quite catch but sounds a lot like grumbling about teasing.
"What?" he asks, bemused.
"Never mind."
"Well, never fear, dear Apollo. I will handle everything. What time is Combeferre going to be home?"
"He was supposed to come off call at lunch time, but has ended up covering a shift for another doc so not until 7."
"I'll be there around 4 then, to set up."
"4? Is that not a bit early?"
"Good food takes time."
"Alright. As everyone keeps telling me, I'm clueless, so who am I to question." He shifts uncomfortably, Courfeyrac is making him hot. He can't help but feel cooking is not the only thing he is clueless about, as he wonders how on earth he's going to keep Courfeyrac if not happy, then at least not downright miserable, all day, if this morning is anything to go by. "What?" He says, distracted as he realises Grantaire has been speaking and is now silent, presumably, waiting for his answer.
"I said, 'too right, you're clueless. I shall see you in a bit then."
"Oh. Right. Yes. Thanks, R. I appreciate it." Enjolras says, relieved and pleased Combeferre will, at least, come home to an edible dinner.
"Enjolras?"
"What?" Enjolras says, having missed Grantaire's words.
"I asked if you were alright. You sound...off."
"Off." Enjolras repeats, unsnaking his free hand from around Courfeyrac to touch his forehead instead. He can't be sure but he feels hotter, again, even after the medicine which usually helped. "Um..no, I'm fine."
"Is Courfeyrac alright?" Grantaire asks, worry edging into his voice.
"Yes, I suppose. As alright as he can be. Just a bit...I'm not sure..." he huffs out a breath, the word he's looking for eluding him.
"Do you want me to come over?"
"No. No. Don't do that. We'll be alright. Helping with dinner would be fantastic though." Enjolras says, trying to sound more reassuring than he feels.
"Alright, if you're sure?"
"Yeah, we're good."
"Right. In a bit then. Bye."
"Bye."
Enjolras hangs up, turns the phone to silent, shoving it under his pillow again and closes his eyes, letting out a slightly wobbly breath, wondering if he shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss Grantaire's offer of moral support. Worry about Courfeyrac seems to have settled in now permanently now, making his stomach tight and uncomfortable and he finds himself checking his phone unreasonably often for a message from Combeferre which doesn't come.