Follow You, Follow Me (47516 words) by Renee-chan
Chapters: 10/?
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, Insults
Series: Part 1 of Follow You, Follow Me

August 19, 2013: Another day, another chapter - and with this chapter, comes the return of Rebus. It's been a bit too long since he made an appearance. ;) Also... Bahorel! Finally made it full-on into the fic. And with his appearance, solved quite a few problems for me - like how Feuilly is going to fit in, again. *eg* Again, thank you all for sticking around! ^_^

Follow You, Follow Me - Chapter 10
by Renee-chan (eirenical)

Jehan picked up his drink, then put it down without taking a sip. He opened his mouth to talk, then closed it without saying a word. He frowned, pursed his lips, then deliberately flexed his hands and laid them flat on the table.

Grantaire edged his seat just far enough away to be out of easy reach.

Finally, Jehan took in a deep breath, let it out and said, "Grantaire… you know that-"

"-this wasn't really a date. Yes, Jehan, I know that." Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. This was the fourth time they'd been over this ground. Joly and Bossuet had given up after the third run-through and gone to keep Musichetta company at the bar. Grantaire, unfortunately, as much as he would also like to flee, was stuck going through this as many times as Jehan wanted them to go through it. He owed Jehan that much.

Jehan frowned again, picked up his drink and took a sip, then placed it precisely back in its spot on the table and folded his hands in his lap. "You know I'm only trying to look out for you, right? Grantaire…" He reached out, took Grantaire's hand in his and said, "…I don't want to see you get hurt."

Grantaire looked down as Jehan tighten his grip around his hand, as though he could will Grantaire to his point of view simply by wishing it to be so. If Grantaire could have reassured him with words alone, he would have done so. But words seemed to flee Grantaire by the thousands for Jehan's far brighter shores when they got into discussions like this. And if eloquence was unavailable… sincerity was really his only option.

Grantaire said, "If I make you a promise, will that suffice?" When Jehan hesitantly nodded, Grantaire put his glass down and wrapped his free hand around their joined ones. Looking directly into Jehan's eyes, he said, "I can't promise to stay away from him, so I won't bother placating you with that easy lie. I do promise to be careful." Grantaire smiled softly at Jehan as he gave their joined hands a squeeze and pulled them up to rest against his own chest. "I promise to take care of this heart as though it were yours."

Jehan watched him for another moment, two moments, three. Just when Grantaire was beginning to worry that he'd misjudged Jehan's trust in him, Jehan nodded once and turned their hands so he could press his against the steady beating of Grantaire's heart. "You are nothing if not careful of your friends' hearts... but it saddens me that the only way you can be convinced to take care of your own is to pretend it belongs to another." He leaned over, pressed a gentle kiss to Grantaire's lips. "Especially as your heart is more precious to me than my own ever was."

There was nothing more Grantaire could say to that, so he simply pulled Jehan into his arms and held him close. He could no more reassure Jehan that he wouldn't get hurt than he could reassure himself and Jehan well knew that. He also knew that given this small window of opportunity, there was no way that Grantaire could fail to try. He owed himself that much. Drink forgotten on the table and Jehan tucked comfortingly in his arms… Grantaire began to plan his next move. Enjolras was always at his best when fired up with passion… so maybe it was time to see how well he handled fighting a war on two fronts. Grantaire was ready to shake the hornet's nest.

Good luck, Enjolras… you're going to need it.

"You ready for another, my friend?" Courfeyrac offered the broad-shouldered, dusky-skinned man at the table his widest, most engaging smile and a slip of a wink as he asked.

Bahorel returned that smile stare for stare, his eyebrow starting a slow climb that landed it up in his hairline by the time he answered, "Jesus fucking Christ, Courfeyrac, take it down a notch, would you? I don't slight people on tips, especially if they're my friends, and especially when they're helping out other friends. Keep your pants on, all right? For both our sakes."

Courfeyrac edged closer, leaned across Bahorel's legs to retrieve his empty glass. "You sure? Me with my pants off is a rather spectacular sight. You should generally find out what you're missing out on before you turn it down."

"Damn it, Courfeyrac! Stop hitting on the customers! You're here to help me, not drive away my business!"

Courfeyrac's smile turned sheepish, a little contrite, as he turned back towards the bar. "Oh, come on." He leaned down to drop a kiss onto Bahorel's close-cropped black hair. "He's known me too long to take me seriously… and he has seen me with my pants off."

At Eponine's aghast look and the spluttering beginnings of what looked like it would turn into a truly impressive harangue, Courfeyrac's smile widened, "Locker room, Eponine. Locker room." When that wasn't enough to assuage the boiling mad look on her face, he elaborated, "JV soccer in undergrad. It's how we met. Didn't I ever mention?"

Bahorel rolled his eyes. "And I'm still scarred for life."

When Courfeyrac turned back, he had his free hand pressed to his chest and such a wounded look on his face that it was impossible not to believe it was real. Bahorel immediately relented and said, "Oh… You're a glory to look at - clothed or unclothed - and you well know it. You're just fishing for compliments."

His wounded expression fading as though it had never been, Courfeyrac slipped Bahorel a wink and tweaked his nose. "Yeah. Little bit. But I know you're always good for one, so I can't help myself."

As Courfeyrac went over to the bar to grab the replacement for Bahorel's drained drink, Bahorel allowed himself a short huff of a laugh at his own expense. He'd known Courfeyrac long enough to know that taking him seriously was something only a fool did more than once, but still… he couldn't help it. He'd rather be a fool then inadvertently hurt a friend. And Courfeyrac, for all his bluster and bravado, had a tendency to wear his huge, tender heart on his sleeve for all the world to take potshots at. It made Bahorel feel more than a little protective of him.

Take tonight. With classes resuming and many of Eponine's hires being local and from the college, she always seemed loathe to make a fuss when one would call in 'sick' out of the blue. Generally they were anything but. Generally it was a case of too little studying discovered too late. But, because beneath her bluster and bravado, Eponine was as tender-hearted as Courfeyrac, she refused to push. It earned her more loyalty from her employees than most of the business owners in the city received from theirs, but it occasionally left her short-handed. Courfeyrac had seen that and volunteered his services if she ever found herself stuck.

Volunteered.

Eponine had been reluctant at first, not knowing much of him beyond his drinking habits and his willingness to take Marius in when he'd needed a place to stay, but if there was one thing Courfeyrac was, it was reliable to his friends. And if his definition of 'friend' was a bit looser than most - he'd declared Bahorel his friend after only one practice, after all, and then proceeded to make it stick, to Bahorel's surprise - no one had the heart to call him on it. She'd made the call, he'd promised to be here and here he was. And far from being off-putting, his flirting had been bringing in business. Unless he was drunk or being purposefully obtuse, he had a fairly good sense of when flirting was welcome and exactly how far he could push it without being offensive. He had quite a following, in fact, and never lacked for a date when he wanted one - male or female - and most of said following had 'discovered' the Musain once he'd started filling in as a waiter… and never quite left, again. Eponine knew it, too, but she was stubborn and didn't hand out thanks easily or graciously.

In fact, Bahorel's first hint of how lucrative the arrangement was becoming for her was when she began insisting that Courfeyrac keep his tips. Bahorel had been there that night. Courfeyrac had simply smiled one of those slow, self-satisfied numbers, and bowed at the waist with a flourish before pocketing said tips. They'd not spoken a word of it beyond that. Courfeyrac was just like that. He was the first to jump to help a friend in need, but the last to own up to how much help he'd given. He was a walking contradiction and Bahorel, being a bit of one himself, could well appreciate that.

When Courfeyrac returned with his drink, Bahorel caught at his sleeve and nodded towards the empty seat beside him. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, but when Eponine nodded her approval at the break, sat willingly enough and helped himself to a drink from the glass he'd just brought to the table. Once he'd quenched his thirst, he turned towards Bahorel and asked, "Something on your mind?"

"A puzzle, my friend. A puzzle. One I came here in the hopes of acquiring your assistance in solving."

Courfeyrac smiled, slow and wide. "What makes you think I would be of any use? Combeferre would be a better choice."

Bahorel quirked an eyebrow in return. "I know you, Courfeyrac. Perhaps not so well as Combeferre or Enjolras, who have both known you longer… but in my own way, I think I see you more clearly for all that." He leaned forward, steepled his fingers in front of his face, "Neither you nor I are quite as unintellectual as we pretend to be, are we?"

Courfeyrac met Bahorel's gaze for a long moment, then reached past him, lifted his drink, saluted him… and downed the remainder in one swallow. When he'd finished that, he held up a finger in a clear request for patience, and returned to the bar. When he came back, he had two drinks in hand - a refill for Bahorel and a beer for himself. Once he'd settled back down, he said, "All right, Bahorel. You have my undivided attention until Eponine needs me. What kind of puzzle are we talking about?"

Bahorel leaned back, crossed his feet at the ankles in front of him and his arms over his chest. "The puzzle of one of our new recruits." When those words prompted Courfeyrac's eyes to widen in dismay before he buried the expression in a long pull at his bottle, Bahorel waited him out, but when he finished by saying, "I believe his name is Grantaire," Courfeyrac's covering drink turned into a not-so-covering choke. Bahorel reached out and patted him on the back until he was breathing easier, again.

In a voice that was far too nonchalant for all the reaction Courfeyrac had been giving him before, he said, "Skinny fellow, dark curly hair, blue eyes, drinks like a fish, fights with Enjolras like it's going out of style? That new recruit?"

Bahorel's laugh was a low rumble in response. "That would be the one. Only I'm taking a class with him and the teacher keeps calling him 'Jehan'… which I thought was the name of the scrawny blonde with the outdated fashion sense who tags along with him."

Courfeyrac frowned, leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "It is. That's odd." Frown deepening, he said, "OK, so it's a puzzle, for sure, but what difference does it make? How does that concern you? Or me, for that matter?"

Bahorel shrugged, "It doesn't, not really. Except I like to at least have an idea of what's going on before I blunder into the middle of a situation."

A laugh. "Not like that's ever stopped you blundering in before."

"Well, no, but still… call it curiosity. If there's one thing I've learned in all my years here, it's how to think. And I think there's more to this situation than meets the eyes… but either way, I'm not going to just stand by and let the poor kid get bullied and the more I know, the more likely I'll be able to stop it for good."

"Wait." Courfeyrac sat up, stared straight into Bahorel's grey eyes and said, "Grantaire is getting bullied? By who?"

Bahorel shrugged. "Don't know. Some of the dumb jocks in that art class with us. Could be something as simple as jealousy - the kid's good and not savvy enough to hide it - but it could be something more sinister. Why? You hear anything?"

Courfeyrac sighed and shook his head. "Not a thing. I'll keep an ear out, though. For all he shakes things up, he's a good man… and like a few others I know, smarter than he lets on." He saluted Bahorel with his beer bottle before finishing it off and standing. "He's good for Enjolras, too. Better than he realizes, I think. I don't want to see him get hurt, not only for his own sake, but for Enjolras', too. It's good he has someone around who won't roll over for him, because he sure doesn't listen to Combeferre and I when we challenge him, anymore. I'd want to keep Grantaire around for that alone… but I like him, too. He's a friend."

Bahorel gave Courfeyrac a soft punch in the shoulder which Courfeyrac immediately played up for effect and Bahorel ignored. "Everyone's your friend, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac dropped the drama and smiled a softer smile, a sheepish one, "Well, that's as may be, but… this is different. Like you were different. Like Feuilly was different. Like Marius was different. There's potential for more there and I don't want to miss out on my chance at it, OK?" His eyes grew serious for a moment, darkening with feeling. "Besides, no one deserves to be bullied - especially not for having a gift. You watch his back in class and I'll try to get to the bottom of the rest of this. Combeferre mentioned wanting to get to know Jehan better, anyway. This is a perfect excuse to get him alone and do just that."

Bahorel waited a heartbeat, then quietly added, "I'd like to be in on that conversation, if I could. Combeferre isn't the only one who'd like to get to know our little poet better."

Courfeyrac stared at him for a moment, then burst into such infectious laughter that he had people at all the tables around them grinning, as well, and Eponine rolling her eyes and shushing him from the bar. When he calmed, he patted Bahorel on the shoulder and said, "I'll let you know when it goes down. It would be my pleasure to arrange a formal introduction for you two."

When Bahorel went to settle up his bar tab later on that night, Eponine waved him away, said Courfeyrac had already taken care of it. Bahorel tipped his cap to Courfeyrac, busily bussing tables on the other side of the bar, and went back to his table to leave him a fifty under his half-empty glass. Two could play at that game.

Combeferre startled awake from where he was slumped over his books, knocking his glasses askew and nearly knocking his glass of water off the table, as well. As he fought to bring the thundering of his heart back under control, the noise that had awoken him sounded once more, sending his heart into another spasm of frantic beating. Taking a quick glance at his watch to confirm that it was, in fact, as late as the pitch darkness around him hinted it was, Combeferre let out a quiet curse and seriously debated not answering the door.

"Combeferre! Please… if you're awake, let me in!"

…damn it. Combeferre groaned himself off the couch and flipped the switch on the lamp timer to turn it back on. In the future, he'd have to remember to take it off timer when he was going to be studying late after a full day of clinics. It had been far too easy to fall asleep once the light switched itself off and he really couldn't afford that kind of carelessness. Taking off his glasses to rub tiredly at his eyes, Combeferre made his way to the door by touch and long familiarity. Really, he wanted nothing more than to veer left towards his bedroom and go to sleep, but Enjolras was even now resuming his frantic pounding at the door and he was bound to wake the neighbors if he kept it up.

And it really wouldn't be fair to leave him in such a state.

Combeferre reached the door still upright by a combination of will and pure cussedness. When Combeferre finally got the door open, however, Enjolras had been leaning so heavily upon it as he knocked that he fell into Combeferre's arms with the sudden loss of resistance and nearly knocked them both to the ground in the process. Only a quick grab for the doorframe saved them from that ignominious end. Combeferre held on to the door and Enjolras just long enough for Enjolras to get his feet back under him, proximity allowing him to catch the raging blush on Enjolras' face before it faded and lack of corrective eyewear allowing him to pretend he hadn't. And really, that was for the best. An embarrassed Enjolras was an impossible Enjolras and Combeferre was too tired to deal with an Enjolras dead set on being impossible.

Combeferre busied himself with closing the door and replacing his glasses onto their usual perch as Enjolras started to pace behind his couch, hands wringing together so hard that Combeferre half-expected to hear bones creaking. Once Combeferre turned away from the door and towards the rest of the room, giving Enjolras his full attention, Enjolras all but wailed, "It's the first time I've heard from him in weeks and I don't know what to do!"

In spite of the vague nature of that blurted out commentary, it took Combeferre depressingly little time to deduce what had Enjolras upset. Who ever managed to get Enjolras this riled these days? Only Grantaire and Rebus. And it couldn't be Grantaire because Enjolras had certainly heard from him over the last few weeks - far more often than Combeferre's desire for general peace appreciated. So, it could only be Rebus. Why now? Why not at some reasonable hour? For that matter, why hadn't Enjolras gone to Courfeyrac with this? He would have been far better suited for it. Well, it was too late, now. Wordlessly, Combeferre held out his hand.

Enjolras stared at the proffered hand for a moment before slumping and reaching into his pocket for his phone and handing it over. As Combeferre unlocked the phone and pulled up the tumblr app, Enjolras went back to pacing. "Why now, Combeferre? I don't even know what I did to prompt it and what if I say the wrong thing and he drops off the face of the Earth, again?" Combeferre opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but Enjolras stopped him by grabbing his free hand and squeezing it to him. Quietly, intensely, he said, "I can't lose him, again, Combeferre. Help me."

Combeferre put the phone down. With the arm not already in Enjolras' possession, Combeferre pulled him into a brief embrace. It's what Courfeyrac would have done and, while Combeferre might not be Courfeyrac, Enjolras was so distraught that the gesture was welcomed as though he was. He said, "Enjolras, let me see what he wrote and we'll figure out how to respond. In the meantime… breathe."

Enjolras took in a shaky breath and slowly let it out. By the time he'd taken a second and third, he was ready to step out of Combeferre's hold, to relax his grip on Combeferre's hand. Combeferre turned back to Enjolras' phone and opened the notifications page. "Am I looking for a message or a reblog?"

"A reblog," was the sullen and irritated reply. "He didn't even contact me directly. After all this time." Combeferre laughed as Enjolras huffed to himself from the other side of the room. It would almost be cute if it weren't so exasperating. In fact, it was cute… right up until Combeferre read the tags on the reblogged post. Rebus had chosen to reblog their post dealing with students' rights in regards to their food choices in the cafeteria, and his tag commentary couldn't be considered anything but the opening salvo to a war.

~#les amis de l'ABC #really #new name new face new policies? #world social justice stage too big for you these days enjolras? #I mean… come on #the school cafeteria? #i can't #i just can't #it's too easy #it's an insult #i'm gone a few weeks and this is what i come back to? #jfc why did I even bother with you in the first place? #have fun with your new catering business~

Combeferre winced, his shoulders bunching further with tension with every word he read. Why… why did Rebus have to attack the one truly effective thing Enjolras had kick-started this semester? He looked up in time to catch Enjolras returning to wringing his hands and pacing. Softly, he asked, "Enjolras… it seems to me as though you're upset for the wrong reasons."

When Enjolras turned back towards Combeferre, his brows were drawn together, his lips pulled into a severe frown. Combeferre sighed, moved to perch on the arm of the couch and lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "He attacked you. He attacked your ideals. He attacked one of the most effective plans for change we've had in years. And what you're concerned about is that if you don't respond correctly he won't do it, again? Enjolras, surely you must realize how ludicrous that sounds."

Enjolras turned away, resumed pacing, his arms tightly crossed over his chest. Combeferre watched and he waited. Slowly moving lips, drawn together brows, arms fighting their tightly controlled imprisonment against each other in a failed effort to gesticulate, quick, military-precise quarter turns at the end of each pass - Enjolras was working the problem. Seeing that, Combeferre put Enjolras' phone down and began tidying his papers. Enjolras needed time to think it through. They'd deal with the fall out when it came.

Just as Combeferre finished stacking his books, Enjolras stopped his pacing and turned back to face him, eyes wide, jaw slack, hands clenched so tightly around his folded arms that the knuckles had blanched. "Combeferre… you're right. I'm being completely irrational. What on Earth is wrong with me?"

And there was the crux of the problem. Enjolras liked his life in clearly defined steps and patterns, each idea leading to the next in a clear, logical progression. It was one of many reasons why he and Combeferre had become such fast friends. They both liked their worlds neat, orderly, well-defined. The difference between them was that Combeferre could handle life when it wasn't - he was able to roll with the punches. Enjolras, on the other hand, had never learned that valuable life skill. He'd been far too sheltered - the only wild card he allowed in his deck was Courfeyrac… and even Courfeyrac had been tamed to a certain pattern of predictable behavior thanks to years of exposure to Enjolras' need for order.

Enjolras couldn't predict Rebus. It made him uneasy, made him prone to fly off towards the first thought which even vaguely resembled logic, even when said thought might not be logic, at all. And that was the problem, now. He'd been working this problem of getting Rebus to resume contact for too long, had been focused so intensely on finding that solution that his brain had yet to catch up and inform him that life had moved him on to the next problem. For the first time in his life, Enjolras' ability to work a problem was failing him utterly… because Rebus wasn't a problem to be solved. He was a person and he refused to be neatly pinned down and categorized. And Enjolras wasn't prepared for that. But that was not something Combeferre could just tell him. That was a conclusion Enjolras had to reach for himself. So rather than spell it out for him, Combeferre simply handed Enjolras his phone and said, "Nothing is wrong with you, Enjolras. Growing up is hard work - harder when you're coming to it so late."

Enjolras stared at him for a moment, lips parted on a half-begun word, eyes widening, then narrowing, then widening, again. Finally, his face relaxed into a smile. Opening his phone to the tumblr app, Enjolras reblogged his cafeteria post from Rebus, tags included, and added the following text underneath:

~What's the matter with you, Rebus? Is the stage too small for you? Injustice knows no size limits, no boundaries. Are you worried that I've finally taken on a fight that I might win - a fight I might win without you? …or are you afraid that I'm treading on territory a little too close to home for you? My bet is that you've eaten in that cafeteria, Rebus. My bet is you're afraid you might have to interact with me directly if you take this one on. So, go on. Call me out, Rebus.

…I dare you.~