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Combeferre had just gotten a very sick Enjolras into his bed-tossing several blankets over him-he seemed to be shivering more than normal for some reason-when the phone rang. It rang several times, until it was clear that whoever was on the other end wasn't going to hang up. Closing the door quickly, he glared at Courfeyrac who had just tossed himself down on the couch, munching on a bag of chips that he no doubt found in the pantry.

"Couldn't you grab the phone?" He said critically, feeling some of the tension from the other day resurfaced.

"I figured they'd hang up." Courfeyrac replied shrugging as Combeferre snatched the phone from the table.

"Hello?" Combeferre snapped into the phone, harsher than he intended.

"Combeferre…Thank God…." Combeferre heard his mother's voice softly speak into the phone. It sounded like she'd been crying.

"Mom…" Combeferre said, feeling his heart begin to pound, "What's wrong?"

"It's your father." Claire's voice broke.

"What is it?" Combeferre asked quickly, turning away from Courfeyrac who'd already gotten off the couch and was standing behind him, awkwardly, no doubt his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Honey….he's….he's gone…." Claire gasped before she sobbed into the phone.

"Gone?" Combeferre asked, not grasping what his mother was saying, but at the same time knowing full well what she meant.

"Your father's dead."

"How you holding up?" Courfeyrac asked, taking his eyes off the road to glance over at Combeferre, who was sitting stiffly in the passenger's seat next to him.

"Fine." Combeferre responded almost robotically, "I just want to get to my mother."

Courfeyrac nodded, stopping at red light, watching as the windshield wipers washed the rain off the windows. He glanced back in the review mirror at Enjolras, who was sprawled out in the backseat, sound asleep. As the light turned green again, Courfeyrac drove the familiar road home, letting his mind wander.

The day had been a whirlwind since Combeferre had received that call from his mother, forever changing not only his life, but Courfeyrac's and certainly Enjolras's as well. For Courfeyrac, Arthur was the first person who he'd ever really been close to who'd died. He'd known something was wrong the second Combeferre had answered the phone, but he sure in hell hadn't expected the news that was to be delivered to him only moments later. The facts and scenes of that night ran through Courfeyrac's head over and over again like a bad movie.

Arthur had had a heart attack. He'd gone down to the kitchen to make breakfast-Claire had been in the shower-when she came down to the kitchen, she'd found him on his back, lying on the wooden floors clutching his chest. He was breathing, but barely. She immediately called the paramedics. They'd gotten him to the hospital okay. But they were unable to revive him….Something about another heart attack in the ambulance. Courfeyrac wasn't exactly sure on the details, and he didn't want to ask, mainly because he didn't want to think about Arthur lying helpless in the back of some truck, dying.

When he heard the news he immediately embraced one of his oldest friends in a tight hug, realizing only after a few minutes the hug hadn't been returned. He released Combeferre who faced him, his face stoic.

"I need to go home." Was all he said, turning towards his bedroom, "I need to be with my mother."

"I'm going too." Courfeyrac said, following him.

"Why?" Combeferre asked, stopping to pull his suitcase out of the hallway closet.

"I loved your dad." Courfeyrac said, feeling a little silly at having to explain himself. "I love your family. You're my brother. Of course I'm going."

"Do what you need to do." Combeferre said calmly but without any emotion.

"I'll go home and pack." Courfeyrac said, shrugging, "I'll drive. When do you want to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning." Combeferre replied. If Courfeyrac didn't know better he would have sworn Combeferre was glaring at him. "Early."

"Cool," Courfeyrac swallowed, offering up a smile, "I'll pack and head back over so we can leave as soon as you want to."

Combeferre didn't reply, he'd just turned away from Courfeyrac, neatly folding clothes into his suitcase.

By the time Courfeyrac made it back to his friend's flat, Combeferre had his suitcase packed, and his best suit hanging up on the coat hanger by the door. Combeferre was sitting on the couch, his facial expression non-expressive. Courfeyrac opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, when he heard a door open and a half asleep Enjolras stumbled out into the hallway.

"What are you guys doing?" Enjolras asked, as his eyes came into focus. "Ferre, are you going somewhere?"

Courfeyrac felt his heart drop into his stomach as realization hit. Enjolras didn't know. He didn't know about Arthur. Arthur who'd taken Enjolras into his home without hesitation… Arthur who had raised him into the man he'd become. Arthur who had given him what he'd craved most in his life, a father….was gone.

Courfeyrac glanced at Combeferre who turned away, and walked out the door, clearly unable to break the news to Enjolras, whose blue eyes were already clouding over with worry.

"Courf?" He asked his voice hesitant, "What's wrong?"

"I think you should sit down Enj." Courfeyrac said, motioning toward the couch. The both remained where they were however. Courfeyrac standing awkwardly and Enjolras leaning against the wall for support

"Just tell me." Enjolras's voice grew into a hushed whisper.

"Arthur's dead, Enj."

Courfeyrac watched as Enjolras took in the news. He watched as Enjolras slowly mouthed the words to himself.

"You're lying." Enjolras whispered his blue eyes burning with what Courfeyrac could already see were tears.

"I'm not." Courfeyrac whispered back.

"Are you sure?" Enjolras continued to whisper as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

Courfeyrac nodded, as he could feel his own eyes welling up with tears.

"Oh my God…." Enjolras broke, sliding down the wall that had been holding him up, dropping to his knees.

Courfeyrac went over to him without hesitation and the two held onto one another, both crying, both forgetting they were grown men.

This is the scene that Courfeyrac was playing in his mind as he pulled into Combeferre's driveway that Thursday afternoon. "We're here" Courfeyrac announced unnecessarily. Combeferre got out without a word, grabbing his suitcase and suit from the back before heading into his house. Courfeyrac watched him go, figuring he'd give him a few minutes with his mother alone.

Truthfully he was glad to feel the tension that rode with them for the three hour long trip release. He knew that there was tension between him and Combeferre over the past few weeks-Combeferre had all but bit his head off-but this was something different. He'd never seen Combeferre act so coldly before to any situation. Sure, he wasn't the most emotional guy Courfeyrac knew, but he was the most sensible. Before Enjolras had gotten sick, and his emotional brain was firing a mile a minute, it was always Combeferre who could calm him down with his practical one. Or whenever Courfeyrac once again landed himself in hot water over one antic or another, it was Combeferre who'd often bailed him out. Sure, sometimes that persistent reign of levelheaded perfection got on Courfeyrac's nerves, but the Combeferre who'd been around lately, Courfeyrac didn't quite know how to handle. Especially this cold stoic one. But Courfeyrac also figured he didn't know what it was like to lose a father, so he didn't exactly know what was normal and what wasn't.

He turned around to face a sleeping Enjolras. Courfeyrac hated to wake him. He looked so peaceful in his sleep. He knew that his best friend's heart was completely shattered. He knew the blow of Arthur's death was more painful than any of the treatments Enjolras had been given for his cancer. Deciding to give Enjolras a few more minutes of peace, and Combeferre a few more minutes with his mother, Courfeyrac turned back around. He leaned his head against the back of the seat, trying to shake the memories of the past night from his mind.