Follow You, Follow Me (32071 words) by Renee-chan
Chapters: 7/?
Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables (2012)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire, Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Characters: Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras (Les Misérables), Jean "Jehan" Prouvaire, Joly (Les Misérables), Bossuet Laigle, Combeferre (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Feuilly (Les Misérables), Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent, Jean Valjean, Inspector Javert, Gavroche Thénardier
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Tumblr, Slow Build, Mistaken Identity, Anonymity, Obsessive Behaviour, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Addiction, Angst, Self-Esteem Issues, Rating May Change
Series: Part 2 of Follow You, Follow Me
Chapter Summary:
Enjolras' messages to Rebus were different, now. They were polite, gentle in a way that Grantaire didn't - that Grantaire couldn't - associate with Enjolras, no matter how hard he tried. They offered glimpses into Enjolras' life, his thoughts. It was as though Grantaire were listening in on one half of a conversation that Enjolras was having with an old friend... an old friend he no longer expected an answer from but with whom he couldn't stop speaking if he tried. Grantaire had only ever heard people talk like that in one setting before.
...at a gravestone.
June 15, 2013: As always, I appreciate everyone's patience. And for those of you who haven't found it and would like to, part of the reason I took so long with this chapter was that I wrote a 7500 word side story/prequel to FYFM in between working on Chapter 7. It focuses on Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre and is a bit heavily angst-laden... because, well... that's just how I roll, sometimes. ^_~
I'd also like to offer up a thank you to distractedkat, who quite unintentionally (and then quite purposefully ^_^) helped me untangle an issue I was having with the central piece of this story. The end result of that discussion was that there will be a sequel to FYFM. -.-;;; Enjolras and Grantaire will be sorted by the end of this story, however, so don't worry about that. ^_^
And... I think that's enough babbling for now. I hope you enjoy Chapter 7!
Follow You, Follow Me - Chapter 7
by Renee-chan (eirenical)
"Grantaire, dear, have you had a chance to reacquaint yourself with Eleanor? You remember her, I'm sure. You attended school together."
When Grantaire simply continued to give his mother a blank stare for her spate of prompting, she finally huffed and leaned over to hiss into his ear, "The Nemours girl, Grantaire. Do at least pretend to keep up, will you?" When she straightened, she gave the two a bright smile and said, "Why don't you go off and get reacquainted? I'm sure you have much to talk about."
Grantaire rolled his eyes. He'd gone to an exclusive grade school which fed directly into an equally exclusive high school. Grantaire and Eleanor had been classmates since they were five in a grade level which contained no more than thirty students in any given year. He remembered her. Of course, he remembered her. Eleanor had never been pretty. Neither had Grantaire. They had been thrown together at functions such as these and sent off to "get reacquainted" more times than Grantaire cared to count.
The truth, though, was that Grantaire had always felt worse for Eleanor than he did even for himself. At least Grantaire had college as his ticket out. Eleanor... didn't. No one spoke the words, but there was something about Eleanor - something sweet, something unencumbered. It happened among their families from time to time, from too many years of marrying too close. Though Eleanor was completely capable in many ways, in others... she needed looking after. So, she was always seen as somehow less... as somehow undesirable. The sad thing was that Eleanor was kind, and though she had a wicked streak Grantaire well admired, she never held a grudge for long. She also had the voice of an angel if you could coax her to sing - not that you ever could within hearing distance of her family. Singing got her noticed and that was something her family most especially didn't want. It was wrong. She deserved better treatment than she got. She always had. Grantaire knocked back his fourth glass of champagne, shrugged off his mother's deepening scowl and offered Eleanor his arm. At least Eleanor never demanded he be anything but what he was. At least Eleanor's company made these ridiculous functions tolerable.
Tonight was the first of many such celebrations of the Christmas season. This one was being hosted by... fuck, Grantaire didn't even remember. Probably the work of some branch of the Du Pont family or another. They always opened the season like this, here at Longwood Gardens, among the ever blooms of the Conservatory. For years, it had made Grantaire itch for a sketchpad just walking in here. But, like Eleanor's singing, Grantaire's art was a secret best not trotted out into the light and he'd forced himself to ignore such impulses until they faded completely.
Barely enough passable skill to pursue as a hobby, at that.
Wincing away from those poisonous memories, Grantaire hunched down into his tuxedo jacket and increased his pace. Eleanor giggled and began walking faster beside him. Seeing the relief lift her face more and more with each hurried step, Grantaire couldn't help but smile in return. Eyes twinkling, he leaned in close and whispered, "On your mark..."
Eleanor giggled again and whispered back, "Get set..."
Together they whispered, "Go!" and broke into a run. And Grantaire deliberately ignored it when he caught that gleam in his mother's eyes as he and Eleanor ran off - a gleam which had her immediately turning towards Eleanor's mother, heads bowing together with some new set of nefarious plans to marry off their undesirable children.
Grantaire pulled Eleanor out through the exhibition hall and into the main conservatory, barely noticing the rich blooms and twinkling lights. They raced through the Silver Garden, narrowly avoided Eleanor's elder sister and her fiancé by ducking out and down the Fern Passageway. As they neared the Cascade Garden, Grantaire slowed his steps just enough that they reached it exactly in stride, breathless with relief and the excitement of a good run. This was their own place for these functions. Even Grantaire's mother wasn't stubborn enough to follow them here, so far away from the main party, to this humid, stifling corner of the conservatory for which everyone was always too warmly dressed this time of year to properly enjoy. But, Grantaire had no problem stripping out of his jacket and rolling up his sleeves and Eleanor didn't care if her overly teased hair fell flat... so it was perfect.
Grantaire hitched himself up on one of the rails as Eleanor leaned over to stick her hands in the fall of water beside him. The smell of chlorine was almost stifling, but neither of them cared. It was far preferable to the alternative. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Grantaire pulled his flask from his jacket pocket and took a generous drink before offering it to Eleanor. She wrinkled her nose at him and shook her head. When he answered that by taking another drink, she sighed and said, "I wish you didn't have to do that. You're no fun when you've been drinking."
As Grantaire reluctantly tucked the flask away, he couldn't help thinking that it really was a good thing he had no interest in women, because that tone in Eleanor's voice had always so successfully tied him around her little finger and the bright smile she gave him when he did something of which she approved really shouldn't make his heart beat faster with pride. It really shouldn't. Eleanor went back to playing in the water, tongue caught between her teeth in happy concentration, completely ignoring that she was getting her (no doubt designer) shoes thoroughly wet. For the first time in a long time, Grantaire's hands itched for a sketchbook and charcoals. It was as though since agreeing to Jehan's ridiculous plan, drawing was all he could think about... and that was dangerous.
Eleanor caught him watching and offered him a bright smile. She stood up and came over to lean against his leg where it bounced on the rail and his breath caught when she tucked her head against his shoulder. He forced himself into stillness and as Grantaire relaxed, so did she. Moments later, she smiled and began to softly sing...
"Silent night... Holy night... All is calm, all is bright..."
Grantaire let himself drift on her voice, happy as always that he could at least give her this. When that song rolled away into the distance, she began another, and another, even coaxed him into joining her on Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, delighted as always when he threw in as many raunchy add-in lines as he could remember. When she ran out of songs - or at least the desire to sing them - she asked in that simple, unadorned way of hers, "Why don't you ever come home, anymore? I miss you."
Sighing heavily, Grantaire said, "I know you do, Ellie. I just... I..." To his eternal embarrassment, Grantaire's voice choked off there, unwilling to allow him to continue.
Eleanor nodded, her eyes sad. "You hate it here. You hate all of them."
"Hate's a strong word."
"But it's the right one," she shot back, eyes twinkling, grin sassy as hell.
Grantaire couldn't help but laugh and swept her as much of a bow as he could from his perch on the rail. "Touché, Ellie. Touché."
Before she could ask any other pointed, too clever questions, a buzz from Grantaire's rear pants pocket made him yipe and all but fall off the rail. He caught himself at the last moment, managed to turn it into more of a controlled dismount than a fall, but that didn't stop his face from reddening in embarrassment when Eleanor started to giggle. As he lifted himself back onto the railing, Grantaire said, "Haha, Ellie. Laugh while you can. Someday when your butt buzzes and scares the living hell out of you, I'll be there waiting to laugh at you." As he spoke, Grantaire automatically went through the motions of checking the message... and froze when he saw who it was from.
Enjolras.
Damn it.
Ever since "Rebus" had backed away from talking to him, Enjolras had been sending him messages - sometimes daily, sometimes as often as hourly. It seemed to vary with his mood and stress level. Grantaire didn't dare tell Jehan, but he'd read them all. At first, they were demanding - demands for information, for contact, for anything - culminating in the one that Jehan had so precipitously responded to right before finals. The messages stopped for a few days after that, then resumed, only... they were different. They were polite, gentle in a way that Grantaire didn't - that Grantaire couldn't - associate with Enjolras, no matter how hard he tried. They offered glimpses into Enjolras' life, his thoughts. It was as though Grantaire were listening in on one half of a conversation that Enjolras was having with an old friend... an old friend he no longer expected an answer from but with whom he couldn't stop speaking if he tried. Grantaire had only ever heard people talk like that in one setting before.
...at a gravestone.
Turning the screen away from Eleanor, Grantaire opened the message. It read:
~I've returned home to New York for the holiday season and, as such, may not be able to post as regularly as I do while at school, nor send you messages as frequently. It is my sincere hope that you have somewhere to spend the season, whether or not you celebrate it, and people whom you care about to spend it with.~
~...I wish I were among them. -Enjolras~
Grantaire read that message, read it again... and began cursing. The muttered stream of profanities began quietly, then slowly rose in volume and intensity until at last he was all but screaming and Eleanor - eyes wide in a mixture of awe and horror - was frantically trying to shush him. He dropped his voice back down to a harsh whisper and finished with, "...fucking hell."
He couldn't answer. He couldn't. Jehan was right. He had to keep reminding himself of that. Jehan was right. It wasn't Grantaire whom Enjolras missed with such passion. It was Rebus. And Rebus... Rebus wasn't real. But he couldn't do nothing. They might be directed at someone who didn't exist, but the pain and loneliness emanating from those lines of text were real enough. Those were the words of someone who needed reassurance... badly. Someone needed to check up on Enjolras, make sure he was all right... but who could Rebus possibly ask to do that?
After a few minutes of thinking - and ignoring Eleanor's ever more insistent questions - Grantaire sighed. There was only one person who had the means to check up on Enjolras, the understanding to accept the sudden contact without asking too many questions, and the discretion to keep it a secret.
Courfeyrac.
Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose as he debated the merits of sending that message and finally, tentatively decided it was worth it. He had to know that Enjolras was all right. This vacation was going to be painful enough without that worry hanging over his head. He opened a new fanmail to loveslabourslost and typed:
~Look... I realize I kind of dropped off the face of the planet these last two weeks. It's a long story and I just... look, I had my reasons, all right? And this isn't me reestablishing contact. It's just... Enjolras has been sending me messages and they're, well... increasingly lovelorn. I can't- look. I can't respond to him. I really can't. And I don't want him to know that I've messaged you. But... is he all right? Because it seems like he's not all right... and I'm worried. I realize this is presumptuous to ask and probably puts you in all kinds of an awkward position, but... Would you check up on him? Let me know if he's OK? I'd appreciate it. -Rebus~ And then he waited.
After what seemed like a lifetime - but proved to be no more than ten minutes, according to the clock on Grantaire's phone - he received a message in response.
~It's good to know you're OK, Rebus. We've all been worried. It's too late to call tonight, but I promise I'll check up on him in the morning. And don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. ^_~ -loveslabourswon~
Too late to call? It was barely eight and Enjolras had messaged him only thirty minutes ago. Still, though Grantaire chafed at being told to wait, he sent nothing but a brief thank you in response. Don't look a gift Courfeyrac in the mouth. He was probably busy with his own holiday family stuff and couldn't get away to make the phone call. Grantaire could wait until morning. He could. Turning back to Eleanor, Grantaire said, "What do you say to getting the fuck out of here?"
Eleanor smiled, cheeks creasing into little dimples as she answered, "Will you tell me about the boy who's got you all hot and bothered, if we do?" When Grantaire spluttered that there was no boy to tell about, she rolled her eyes and said, "I may be retarded, Grantaire, but even I'm not that stupid. What else could make you blush and go all dewy-eyed like that?"
Grantaire froze, slowly turned back towards Eleanor and grabbed her hands in his. When he spoke, he was impressed that his voice didn't shake and didn't come out as a yell. Instead it was deceptively quiet and full of thunder, "Ellie... where did you hear that word?"
"What, dewy-eyed? I don't know. A movie, I think."
The tone was innocent enough, but the way Eleanor immediately ducked her eyes to avoid meeting his gaze told Grantaire that she knew damned well which word he'd meant. He chucked a finger under her chin and said, "You're not retarded, Ellie. And I'll happily introduce my fists to the face of anyone who says otherwise - your parents and prissy-prig sister included. You hear me?"
Eleanor sighed, then reached out to cup Grantaire's face in her hands and brush her lips briefly against his. When she leaned back, her eyes were full of more world-weary knowledge than anyone in that far distant ballroom would ever have given her credit for or believed she possessed. She said softly, "I know what I am, Grantaire. I'm ugly. I'm a retard. Who cares who said it? It's true." When Grantaire opened his mouth to argue, she covered it with her hand. "I mean... the only one of them who matters is you, so as long as it's not you saying it, I don't care. I don't. It's just sounds. So... It's OK."
Grantaire pulled her into a tight hug and fought off a sudden spate of tears. Eleanor was braver than he could ever hope to be and she had so many more disadvantages. It really wasn't fair. She deserved better. And Grantaire knew firsthand how badly those words-that-were-just-sounds could wound. He'd fielded more than his fair share, too... and from the people whose words should have mattered most.
Eventually, Eleanor poked him in the shoulder and said quietly, "You were saying something about getting out of here, homo?"
Grantaire jerked back in surprise but relaxed when he saw the humor in Eleanor's eyes. When he murmured quietly, "Just sounds, huh?" she nodded. He leaned in closer and said, "Well, then, if it's all the same, I prefer 'fairy'." He winked, "Sounds better and I could even dress the part if I wanted."
Deliberately turning off his phone to avoid any other potential interruptions, Grantaire offered Eleanor his arm and led her back to the main conservatory to pick up their coats. As they walked, he started talking, "So, what do you know about tumblr...?"
The front door to the Musain slammed open and those inside jerked around to see a lanky figure silhouetted in the doorway just long enough to strike a dramatic pose and yell, "Honey, I'm home!" before ambling in and draping itself over the bar. Grantaire beamed up at Eponine as he did so and said sweetly, "Eponine. Sweetheart. Love of my life. Provider of that sweet elixir which keeps my blood pumping. Have I told you lately how very dear you are to me? Have I told you lately that you are the light at the end of the very dark tunnel that is my life? Have I-?"
Before Grantaire could even get that last sentence out, Eponine had plunked a triple of whisky on the bar in front of him. Her eyebrows climbed up into her hairline as she lifted an imperious finger to point Grantaire to his usual table in the corner. When he hesitated to go, she narrowed her eyes and said, "Good G-d, Grantaire. Get the first one in you and get whatever this is the fuck out of your system before you come back for another." As Grantaire lifted his drink to cradle it close and scoot away from the bar, he overheard her mutter, "Christ, what is wrong with everyone tonight?"
Once Grantaire was settled in at his usual table, Joly and Bossuet joined him, sharing glad greetings and rounds of cheers at their reunion. And it wasn't until his friends settled in around him and started a leisurely rehash of what he'd missed while home over break that Grantaire realized exactly how tense he'd been until that moment. The rest of his 'vacation' had been no better than the start of it. He'd spent more time with Eleanor than with his family - something which had thrilled his and Eleanor's mothers to no end and, in the end, only put added pressure on them both - but that endless go-round of being under his parents' intense scrutiny at social functions and being virtually invisible at all other times had started to weigh on him very heavily by the time vacation was over.
Add to that the fact that the longer Grantaire was home, the harder it was to hide his anticipation of that one class he and Jehan were pulling the switch on... and it was a wonder he hadn't given himself an ulcer. He could think of little else, had even caught himself scribbling on cocktail napkins at some of the later events, in spite of his best intentions. Ellie had been entranced, had insisted on keeping all of his scribbles - mostly of her - and encouraged him to scribble more. But, he didn't dare. He really didn't dare. Besides... they weren't any good. They really weren't. This was going to end up a waste of his time because he'd never make it past this first level drawing class. Still... Jehan was right. He had to try.
Barely enough passable skill to pursue as a hobby, at that.
It wasn't until someone let out a low whistle beside him that Grantaire realized that his idle thoughts had combined with his itching fingers to doodle on yet another cocktail napkin. Long-held instincts won out over common sense and he crumpled it into his hand and jerked it out of sight before looking up.
Courfeyrac stood across the table, beer bottle in hand, looking like he'd had more than his fair share, already. He nodded towards the napkin whose folds were just peaking out from between the gaps in Grantaire's fingers. "Didn't know you did that."
"I don't." The answer was so curt as to be bordering on rude and Grantaire winced at himself. He repeated himself, more calmly this time, "I don't. It was just... doodling. You know. Nothing serious."
Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow and leaned forward to try to pry the napkin loose from Grantaire's hand. When that proved too difficult a task for a fairly inebriated man to accomplish, he sighed dramatically and said, "I just wanted to see it. She's cute. Who is she?"
With every word, Courfeyrac got louder and louder, and he was starting to draw Eponine's scowling attention. Grantaire leaned closer and said, "Jesus Christ, Courfeyrac, shut up." At the pout he received in return for that admonition, Grantaire rolled his eyes and said, "If I promise to show you, will you sit down and be quiet? It's barely 7. I don't want to get kicked out so early on my first night back. How long have you been here, anyway? You're already drunk off your ass."
Courfeyrac sat down, a smirk painted securely on his face as he shrugged and gestured helplessly to his lips, then made a locking motion near them and pretended to throw away the key. Grantaire couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. Right. Sit down and be quiet. Trust Courfeyrac to be as big a pain in the rear as he could be, even when drunk. At least that was a quality that Grantaire could admire. In answer, he crumpled the napkin further and threw it at Courfeyrac's head.
It never connected.
A hand reached out and snatched the napkin from the air right before it would have collided with Courfeyrac's head. Grantaire lunged after it, but wasn't fast enough to prevent a newly arrived Jehan from smoothing it out and oohing and aahing over it. When Jehan raised his gaze to catch Grantaire's, he said simply, "I've only met her the once, but I think you captured her essence pretty well, R." His smile slid into a smirk. "Good to see you haven't been wasting time getting back to practicing, either."
Grantaire whimpered as Jehan handed the napkin off to Courfeyrac and settled into the seat between they two. The others immediately crowded around to get a better look. Grantaire buried his head in his arms and refused to look at any of them. Jehan leaned over and gently kissed his temple, his voice a quiet murmur as he spoke. "Sorry, love. I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have teased you in public like that. Not about this. Not yet. Not when I take it your visit home was as wretched as ever and has you securely tied up in knots like usual... yes?"
Grantaire lifted his head just enough to pin Jehan with a stare that clearly said, "Drop it." When Jehan lifted his hands as though in surrender, Grantaire nudged him under the table with his foot and offered him a watered down grin and changed the subject, deliberately shifting the focus away from himself. "So, how was Paris? Seduce any hot Parisians with your poetry? And how are your parents?"
Jehan laughed, leaned back in his chair to stretch his legs out in front of him and said, "Lovely, as always - it was glorious to get away for a while. My feet were positively burning from having been stuck to this city for so long and I've always loved Paris. I'm glad that's where my parents were when I called. This was much more relaxing than the time I caught up with them in Yakutia. It's way too damned cold up there, if you ask me."
Grantaire laughed in return. Unless Jehan had a pressing reason not to, when vacations called, no matter how briefly, he or his parents would find a way to get him to wherever they were at the time. And just as they'd been for most of his childhood, his parents were still very much gypsies. They never stayed long in one place and they'd raised Jehan to be a student of the world rather than any one particular school or culture. Still, they had a special attachment to the French and returned there over and over. In a way, Paris was more home to Jehan than America could ever be. No matter where he was, though, just like his parents, Jehan was never happy when stuck in one place for too long... and Grantaire was all too well aware that the only reason Jehan had stayed so long in this particular place was because Grantaire needed him. It was humbling. To dispel the surge of melancholy that thought always brought along with it, Grantaire nudged Jehan and said, "And your parents?"
Jehan smiled. "My parents are wonderful, as usual. My grandmother showed up with her latest conquest the week before I returned, as well. It was a regular family reunion on the banks of the Seine, R. You'd have love it. Between you and me, though, I think Mammy's still surprised that my parents are still together. She kept muttering something about not believing that neither of them had gotten bored yet."
Grantaire snorted out a laugh at that. Jehan's family "reunions" were much more fun and far less stress inducing than his own, and since they had a very fluid idea of what constituted "family," Grantaire had found himself dragged into them whenever they occurred close by. Between his grandmother's lovers - scattered around the globe in every known port of call - and his parents' open marriage, Jehan had "family" in just about every major city on Earth and quite a few less major ones, as well - hippies and gypsies, every one of them.
Jehan waggled his eyebrows. "And as for the hot Parisians... the running tally when I left was fourteen and I'd accounted for at least four of them."
"At least four? Aren't you sure?" Joly looked mortified as he spoke the words. Courfeyrac had left off staring at Grantaire's doodle in favor of staring at Jehan. He looked like he'd like to start kowtowing. Grantaire understood. Even given the circumstances of their first meeting, Jehan was usually so meek - he collected flowers, pictures of kittens and was prone to dressing in grandma sweaters whenever the weather turned cold, for goodness' sake - that it was hard to remember, sometimes, that he had this hiding inside him, as well.
Jehan offered up a sheepish grin at the aghast looks on Joly and Courfeyrac's faces. "Well... the fifth and sixth were debatable. Mammy and I were having a bit of a contest over a pair of gorgeous brunettes - seriously, they were... I could write sonnets. I did write sonnets. Four of them right there on that bridge. Skin of darkest mahogany, eyes of deepest black, hair that shone in the lamplight..." His eyes became distant for a moment as he lost himself in memory. After a moment, he shook himself back awake and said, "It was without doubt my poetry that entranced them over, and that should have settled the competition right there... but it turned out they only preferred other women and ended up going off with Mammy in spite of all my hard work." He sighed dramatically.
Before he could say anything further, however, Courfeyrac interrupted him by choking on his latest swallow of beer. Jehan whipped around to face him just in time for Courfeyrac to splutter out, "Wait... you? With a woman? With two women? You do that?"
Jehan and Grantaire looked at each other, then back at Courfeyrac. At the completely poleaxed expression on his face, both laughed. Courfeyrac blushed wildly, and ducked his head, busying himself with his bottle. To be fair, Grantaire could commiserate - that had caught him by surprise in the beginning, too. Eventually Jehan wiped his eyes free of the laughter-induced tears and said, "Oh, boy. I'm sorry, Courfeyrac. It's just... I get that a lot. Eventually, you just have to laugh about it and learn to enjoy being so hard to label." Eyes twinkling, he said, "In short? Yes. I do that." He draped an arm over Grantaire's shoulders and said sweetly, "And I also do this." Ignoring Grantaire's protests that Jehan most certainly did not do "this" anymore, Jehan finished with a soft, "Is that a problem?"
Courfeyrac quickly shook his head and said, "No! I, uh... do that, too." His blush deepened. "Both, that is. I do-" He hung his head and groaned. "I'm just sticking my foot farther and farther down my throat, here, aren't I?"
Someone else stepped up to the table, then, and clapped Courfeyrac on the back. "Clearly. And clearly Eponine was right when she called me to come retrieve you. You've had enough. How did you manage that by 7:30 and all by yourself, anyway? How long have you been back?"
"Long enough." Courfeyrac lifted his bottle of beer and drained it before standing and grabbing Combeferre's face and planting sloppy kisses on both cheeks. When he leaned back, he smiled a soft, genuine smile, "Missed you."
Combeferre smiled back and pulled Courfeyrac into a brief hug before draping Courfeyrac's arm over his shoulders in preparation of guiding him out of the Musain. "I missed you, too. Now, why don't we work on getting you outside and to the bus stop?"
Already thrown off his public stride by that revelation of Jehan's vacation exploits and not yet resettled, Joly's eyes widened in horror. Before any could think to shush him, he blurted out, "You're going to take him home on the bus? When he's this inebriated? What if he throws up? It might get on someone! Someone might sit in it. The entire city could become ill!"
Even as Grantaire and Jehan rolled their eyes, Combeferre's eyes widened. Joly was on his best behavior during classes and did his best not to let his neuroses show in that professional atmosphere. As such, Combeferre had never seen him in one of these irrational panics before. Before any of them could say anything, however, Bossuet simply reached a hand up and patted Joly on the cheek. As those wide eyes turned and slowly focused on Bossuet's dark-skinned face, Bossuet smiled. He said softly, "Not your problem, Joly."
"But-!"
"Not your problem." This time the words were firmer, though no less gentle than before.
"But, what if-!"
"Not. Your. Problem." The third time they were spoken those words brooked no argument. As Joly slumped against Bossuet's hand, Bossuet used it to gently curl Joly into his arms. Once Joly was there, taking in deep breaths to push back the panic, Bossuet said, "And on that note, I think we've had enough for tonight, too." He turned his head downwards to direct his next words towards Joly and, with them, threw Joly's girlfriend under the proverbial bus without even a qualm. "Musichetta said something about closing early tonight so she could get a break before all the college kids flood in this week. Do you want to see if she wants help tidying the place up for the new semester?"
At those words, Joly's head shot up, a distinct gleam in his eyes that his friends knew all too well. He said, "Yes. Yes, that would be... Bossuet, the Corinthe hasn't had a thorough disinfecting in weeks. And all those undergrads..." He shuddered. "They have no sense of respect for other people's property. They destroy things and they make such a mess. It's the least we can do to start the place off clean!"
As Joly leapt from his chair to go fetch their coats, Grantaire looked up at Bossuet and smiled. "Well... that's new."
Bossuet's dark skin flushed a dusky pink and he shrugged. "Not really. Just... we've all reached a new understanding. It works even better than the old one. And it helps. Both of them. So..." He shrugged again.
Jehan leaned over to grip Bossuet's hand. "Good for you, then, my friend. Good for you."
Once they'd left, Grantaire turned to explain to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, but Combeferre hastily held up a hand. "No. Please don't. I strongly suspect that Courfeyrac is too drunk for that explanation and that I am too sober. It can wait." He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, then said, "Besides, I need to sober this one up as much as I can before Enjolras gets back tonight because doubtless he'll be chomping at the bit to get started on plans for the SJWs for the semester and he won't take kindly to having to wait. We'll be up until all hours getting it all sorted otherwise."
Jehan laughed softly, "Better you than me." After another moment of commiserating silence, Jehan said, "You know... you lot should really think about changing your name. Everyone knows what SJW stands for. It's so... confrontational."
Courfeyrac spoke up from where he'd tucked his head into Combeferre's neck. "I've been saying that for years, haven't I? We should call ourselves the 'Justice Friends!'"
Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose again and explained in such a slow, careful way that they got the idea he'd 'explained' this numerous times before, "And Enjolras has told you for years that he won't tolerate calling us by a name that sounds so much like a superhero conglomerate."
"Then how about the Friends of Justice?"
"That's no better, Courfeyrac."
"The Friends of the Oppressed?"
"No, Courfeyrac."
"Well, we should be the friends of something. The other makes us sound like vigilantes! That's even worse than superheroes."
"The Friends of the Oppressed...?"
Grantaire turned quickly as Jehan murmured those words, a light in his eyes that Grantaire was all too familiar with. "Jehan...?" he said, softly, a warning in his voice.
Jehan began to laugh. All eyes turned to him as that laughter increased in volume. By the time he'd dissolved into giggles, Combeferre looked as though he was ready to flee with Courfeyrac and never return. Grantaire sighed and said, "You'll have to forgive him. He just... he likes these really bad puns. Really bad French puns. That's how I ended up 'R' in the first place... and some day you should ask Lesgle how he ended up 'Bossuet'. Really. It's a show stopper." Grantaire shook his head.
Just then, Jehan looked back up, a fierce light in his eyes as he said, "No, but this is brilliant. You can be... Les Amis de l'Abaissés!"
"They can be what?" Grantaire couldn't help asking the question, even though he knew he was going to regret it.
Jehan waved his hand expansively, "The Friends of the Oppressed - or the Friends of the Lowly, the Downtrodden, the Humble. That's what you are, right?" At Combeferre's hesitant nod, Jehan pulled a cocktail napkin over and wrote "Friends of the Oppressed". Underneath that, he wrote "Les Amis de l'Abaissés". Then he looked up and smiled widely at them and explained, "And abaissés, in French, is pronounced just like the letters..." Beneath the last word, he wrote "A-B-C". At the very bottom of the napkin, he then inked the full name in flourished calligraphy - "Les Amis de l'ABC" - and offered them a beaming smile as he delivered that punch line.
No one laughed.
No one laughed... but another voice spoke up from behind them to say, "I love it. We'll make changing it item two on the agenda tonight."
Combeferre turned to see a smiling Enjolras hovering at his side. Of course. Because, Enjolras would be early and was just as much a fan of all things French as Jehan. The new name suited him to a tee. Combeferre asked, "What's item one?"
Enjolras scowled at Courfeyrac, then turned on his heel and marched back out the way he'd come. Courfeyrac frowned after him, then finally said quietly, "Me? I'm item number one?"
Combeferre sighed heavily and hung his head. "As I said... getting you functional is. Come on. We'll have the meeting at my place, tonight. I stocked the refrigerator when I returned this afternoon and, in anticipation of just such an event, I purchased plenty of that Propel flavor you like." He sniffed in Courfeyrac's direction and rolled his eyes, "And perhaps a hot shower wouldn't go amiss, either."
They said their goodbyes, Courfeyrac still whining about having to work even before classes started and Combeferre good-naturedly shooting down his every argument against such work. Grantaire simply looked at Jehan. Before he could say a word, however, his phone buzzed. Eyes widening, Grantaire pulled it out and checked - sure enough, there was already a message from Enjolras. It was short and to the point... and it made Grantaire's blood run cold.
~I'm back. I trust that you are, as well. No more games, Rebus. This time, I'm going to find you and we're going to talk this out like rational adults. Count on it. -Enjolras~
Jehan's answer when he read it was even shorter and more to the point. He scowled at the phone and said quite vehemently, "The hell you will - not if I can help it."
A/N: For those interested, Longwood Gardens is a real place. It is one of my favorite places. Once the estate of the Du Ponts (They are the closest thing Delaware has to royalty... and yes, they really are as inbred as I made them out to be - and if Grantaire came from money in the DE/PA area... he was raised right smack in the middle of it.), it is now open to the public as a sprawling garden with miles and miles of trails, both cultivated and wild. It's a little piece of heaven on Earth. They do still host weddings and galas on the grounds and in the Conservatory, as well. And you should see the place done up in lights for the Christmas season. *_* Seriously. Go look it up. *nodnod*
Also, I don't normally do this, but I wanted to respond and I hope you'll see it...
Punchy - Thank you so much for your kind reviews for both this story and KYKM! I'm glad you feel I've been getting Grantaire's character correct, too. And, yes, you did catch a Vikings reference in the earlier chapters. I couldn't resist. ^_~ As for more of C&C in FYFM... there will be little hints of "more than friendship" here and there, but not much more than that, I'm afraid. *coughs* OTOH, that sequel I mentioned that's now happening? That's going to be all for Courfeyrac and there will be plenty of C&C in there. ^_~ Thank you again for your lovely reviews and I hope you don't mind me responding like this!
