A/N: Les Amis: Mystery Incorporated. The Amis become the very definition of "those meddling kids," and stir up trouble in paradise. As always, I don't own Les Mis.

"As if we needed extra incentive," Feuilly murmured

"Well," interjected Meghan, stepping out from behind her mother, "in case you do…" She trailed off, walking boldly toward Feuilly.

"Wha-" He was cut off as Meghan planted a searing kiss on his lips. As she pulled away, she smacked his bum, and whispered, "There's more where that came from, tiger."

Breathless, Feuilly weakly waved, and turned on his heel. As he passed Enjolras, he murmured, "Dude, you're really missing out."

Turning his blue gaze to the artist busily helping Courfeyrac pack, he muttered, "Don't I know it?"


As Enjolras approached the microbus, he saw his sister, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac poring over a map.

Enjolras pecked his sister on the cheek, ducked under her arm, and climbed into the back of the van.

Grantaire had already situated himself in the back, charcoal clutched tightly in hand. Gently lighting beside the artist, Enjolras tucked his chin over Grantaire's shoulder so he could observe the brunet at work.

"Hey there, Apollo," Grantaire murmured, a smirk in his voice.

Enjolras grinned, and looped his arms around the artist's waist. Grantaire laid down the chunk of charcoal, gingerly grabbing Enjolras' wrist and inspecting the pale skin of his inner arm.

Rooting through his bag of drawing utensils, Grantaire brought out a red, silver, and blue permanent marker.

Silently, he used each marker to draw a simple ring around the revolutionary's arm. When he was finished, he returned the newly decorated arm to Enjolras. "There you go French fry. A minimalist rendition of your heritage."

Enjolras grimaced a bit at the nickname, but was thoroughly impressed by the simple design's beauty. Turning his arm this way and that, he smiled. "I think I could get used to something like this."

"It's been a while, but if you really like it, I could make it permanent when we get home."

Enjolras had never really considered body art, but the prospect of having a piece of Grantaire forever on his skin was irresistible. "Are you serious? You'd…ink me up?"

Grantaire nodded blithely. "Only if you're sure."

"I'm sure." Enjolras' voice belied no uncertainty; the only thing he was surer of was that he was desperately in love with the artist.

"I'm in love!"

The moment was broken by Feuilly's bombastic cry.

Grantaire arched a brow. "That makes two of us," he muttered.

"What was that," Enjolras whispered.

"Huh? Oh, nothing. Just, talking to myself."

Enjolras shrugged, turning to look out the window.


They hadn't even been on the road five minutes when Courfeyrac groaned. "I feel like I'm driving a freakin' hearse. You guys are as silent as the grave!"

Irritably, Enjolras growled, "We are running on less than four hours of sleep and have had no coffee. What do you want us to do?"

"Entertain me!"

"What do you want us to do," Grantaire asked. "Dress in drag and do the hula?"

Jehan and Feuilly chuckled at the artist's well-timed cinematic reference.

Courf scowled at his passengers in the rear-view mirror. "Ha. You're so funny. I'm practically crying. Just for that…" He fiddled with his phone, cranking up the volume.

The passengers winced at the electric bubblegum pop that assaulted their ears.

"Courfeyrac, you are no longer my best friend just on principle," Enjolras shouted.

Even Jehan was disgusted. "If you're going to play bubblegum pop, at least play something good."

Courf was frustrated at this point. Thrusting his phone at the poet, he spat, "Fine, Mozart, you find something."

Jehan turned the radio down, and began scrolling through Courf's music.


Now that his eardrums were not in immediate danger, Enjolras turned back to face Grantaire.

No words were exchanged; Grantaire merely stretched out, his head taking up residence on the blonde's thigh.

Absentmindedly, Enjolras began twirling Grantaire's raven curls around his fingers. In minutes, Grantaire was snoring softly, his features relaxing.

Enjolras grinned, tipping his own head back, drifting off to dreamland.


While the two turtledoves slept, Jehan was furiously whispering to Éponine over the phone.

"You haven't protested our little schemes till now!"

The poet sighed. "Because up until now, they've been fairly harmless. Nothing more than what we did to you and Ferre. Interrogating them? That's crossing the line into meddling. Whatever is going on was doing beautifully before we stuck our noses into it."

At this point, Cosette took the phone from her friend. "And it's not doing beautifully now? We're just helping them along!"

"When we all agreed to this, we agreed to find out what was going on. We never agreed to this."

Cosette sighed. "Look, I understand your hesitance. It's never exactly been smooth sailing when it comes to anything involving Enjolras and Grantaire, but I know my best friend and I know my brother. Whatever is going on is moving along at a snail's pace, and neither of them is going to make a move on the other without a little guidance."

Jehan raked a hand through his hair. "Fine. I just hope you know what you are doing."


"Hey, Sleeping Beauties! We're here," Cosette yelled, banging on the window of Courfeyrac's van.

Grantaire blearily sat up, and roused Enjolras.

As they climbed out of the van, Grantaire asked, "Where are we?"

With the exuberance of children, Courfeyrac, Cosette, and Éponine cried, "Alice's Restaurant!"

"I knew it existed," Grantaire cried gleefully. "We're even in a red VW microbus."

Cosette grinned. "I know. Too bad we don't have shovels and rakes and implements of destruction. You know, I feel like Arlo Guthrie and Enjolras might've gotten along."

"They'd have at least agreed on the draft."

"That's very true." Cosette beamed.

Leaning into his dance partner's side, the artist sang, "You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant."

"Excepting Alice," Éponine sang.

"What," Enjolras asked, completely confused.

"You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant," Cosette sang, as though explaining it to Enjolras.

"Walk right in, it's around the back," Courf sang, slinging his arm around his shoulder.

"Just a half a mile from the railroad track," Grantaire sang, his eyes twinkling as he grabbed Enjolras' hands, swaying him from side to side.

"You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant," the four of them sang in four-part harmony, with feeling.

Enjolras looked at them as though they were crazy. "Are you guys okay?"

Cosette grinned, hugging Enjolras from behind. "Of course, we're okay. It's Alice's Restaurant. Arlo Guthrie. Ring a bell?"

Enjolras' expression was vacant.

"Cosette, he didn't know what 'Anaconda' was," Grantaire murmured, reaching up to ruffle the blonde curls.

"Oh, God, Enj. I swear to Patria you live under a rock," Éponine cried.

Courf chuckled. "That's what Jehan said."

"C'mon. I'm hungry," Grantaire complained.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, smiling affectionately at the artist. "Well, let's go then!"

"Hey, Aire! Race you to the entrance," Éponine called.

His eyes narrowed devilishly. "You're on."

The two of them took off, leaving Enjolras far behind.


The group entered the restaurant a bit noisily. While the four "Alice's Restaurant" enthusiasts sang a boisterous cover in four-part harmony, the others were asking unanswered questions about the "massacree" to the vocalists.

An older woman tottered to the front, a bright grin on her face. Her nametag identified her as none other than Alice. "You know the song?"
Cosette nodded enthusiastically.

The woman laughed heartily. "It's been so long since I've had customers who got the joke. Welcome!"


Before Enjolras could get very close to Grantaire, the artist was shuffled to a booth with his fellow singers.

Combeferre grabbed the blonde's arm, pulling him towards a booth across the restaurant.

Enjolras sank low into his seat, pouting a bit because he could not see Grantaire from here.

The bespectacled man waited to question his companion until after Alice had taken their order.

"So you and Grantaire have been pretty chummy this whole trip," Ferre stared lamely. He'd not been entirely on board with Cosette and Éponine's latest plan.

The blonde hummed. "Aire's pretty good company, I suppose." A wistful smile tugged at his lips. In his opinion, Grantaire was some of the best company in the world.

Following the last resort plan that had been made, Combeferre got straight to the point. "What's going on between you two?"

Enjolras quickly looked away, beginning to toy with his fork. "What makes you think anything is going on between us?"

Combeferre grinned kindly, and stilled his friend's hands by placing one of his own over them. "Enj, we're not stupid, and you're not as good at hiding things as you think you are." Just then, Alice stopped at the table, and set a strawberry milkshake in front of Enjolras. "Courtesy of the attractive young man at that table over there," she sang, indicating Grantaire.

The blonde blushed. "Tell him he'd better find some less cliché flirting techniques if he wants to get anywhere with me."

"Will do."

As Alice sashayed away, Combeferre turned to Enjolras, his gaze condemning. "And you say there's nothing going on."

"It's not like Grantaire hasn't flirted with me from the get-go."

"Yes, but it's only recently that you've been flirting back."

Enjolras froze, realizing that they'd been caught. He opened his mouth to answer his friend when he realized something: he couldn't accurately define what he and the artist had been caught in, and that bothered him. His mind now far from the conversation, he muttered shakily, "It's none of your business."

Knowing he'd pushed his friend too far, Combeferre bowed his head.


"A milkshake? Really?"

Grantaire stuck his tongue out at Éponine. "Is flirting a crime?"

"That's a little sentimental, even for you," Courf chimed.

Alice returned from presenting Enjolras with his frozen confection. She grinned at Grantaire. "He says to tell you that if you're going to get anywhere with him, you'd better find some less cliché flirting techniques."

Cosette choked on her soda. "Enjolras said that? Since when can my brother flirt?"

Alice chuckled as she walked away.

Three pairs of eyes were suddenly on Grantaire. He shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

Éponine was the first to speak up. "I don't recall Cosette giving you permission to date her brother."

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "We're not dating."

A squeal rose from Courfeyrac's throat. "Friends with benefits! I never pegged Enjolras for something so…dispassionate."

"We're not friends with benefits, either."

"Then what are you?"

Grantaire was irritated. Thus far, the teasing they'd endured was harmless, and non-threatening to the burgeoning of whatever this was. If they'd decided to interrogate him, they were definitely interrogating Enjolras. The artist knew this would put pressure on the blonde. Turning his attention to Enjolras, he spat, "None of your business."


After a lunch that very much mirrored a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, Grantaire bounded up to the friendly hostess. "Ma'am, could we have a picture?"

The woman hugged Aire, nodding her head. "Of course, sweetie!"

Courf pulled his van in front of the restaurant, in full view of the restaurant's sign. Les Amis posed with Alice, the red van and the restaurant behind them, while Alice's husband Ray took the photo on Cosette's phone.

Cosette immediately sent the photo to the email address that Alice had given her.

"You all come back here sometime, you hear?"

"Yes ma'am," Éponine chimed.

They waved goodbye, and got back on the road.


Grantaire was concerned. Despite the questioning he'd been dealt, he'd not been oblivious to the interrogation Combeferre had put Enjolras through. He could tell that Enjolras had not answered confidently, and the distance he'd put between them in the van obviated this insecurity; the blonde had crawled into the farthest corner from Grantaire, keeping his gaze staunchly out the window.

"Maybe he just needs some space," Grantaire thought. "Maybe he needs to think." The artist reluctantly returned his attention to his sketchpad.


Les Amis stopped at a little diner for supper.

Grantaire made a point to sit with Joly and Bossuet at dinner, giving Enjolras the space the artist assumed he needed.

The blonde didn't even spare a glance for the artist, moving to sit with his sister.


Hotel check-in was quite the awkward affair. Grantaire was already on eggshells around Enjolras, and the blonde wasn't making any attempts to relieve the situation's tension.

In fact, the only thing Enjolras had done since changing his clothes was sit on the bed and pull his knees to his chest, his eyes blankly staring at the news.

Grantaire walked out of the bathroom, and grabbed the room key. "You coming, or what?"

"Hmm?"

The artist stared at his beat-up Chucks. "Oh, um, there's a concert going on out back. We'd…the Amis…had talked about meeting up. Are you coming?"

"Yeah, um, right."

He stood, and made for the door, the artist stopping him short with a hand. "Are you alright?"

Enjolras shrugged Grantaire's hand away. "I'm fine."


Jehan cheerfully greeted the two. "We were starting to think that you weren't gonna show."

"What else would we have done?"

He shrugged and guided them to an open table near the makeshift stage.


Enjolras fidgeted. He knew things were off between himself and the artist, and the fact that all of the Amis were watching only made the tension worse.

Suddenly, he stood up, and began walking away from the table.

"Where are you going?"

He winced, having hoped that his departure would go unnoticed. Turning to answer Jehan, he lied, "Uh, I forgot something in the room."

Prouvaire raised a brow. "Okay."

As Enjolras rushed away, the poet elbowed the artist. "Are you going to go after him?"

Grantaire quizzically peered over at his friend. "What?"

"Our friends just made apparent what was going to be an issue sooner or later. You need to tell him." He gestured to where Enjolras' form was disappearing in the distance.

Grantaire gasped, and pressed a kiss to the top of the poet's head. "Thanks, Jehan."

The cynic took off after the revolutionary he loved.

A/N: I know that this chapter is a bit anti-climactic, but I promise, it's going to get better soon! If you enjoyed it, leave a review or send me a PM. If you're wondering, the song to which most of this chapter refers is Arlo Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant Massacree."