Note: And this is the part where Victor Hugo turns over in his grave, as the mysterious Canon Sue's identity is revealed. Sadly, by her very canon-ness, I cannot claim ownership of her, nor of Combeferre, nor the Amis, nor Patron-Minette, nor anyone, in fact, at all worth owning. I can't even claim the setting for the flashback – it's the Ambush in the Old Gorbeau House, for anyone who was wondering. But that certainly isn't going to stop me from abusing them wholeheartedly . . .
Upon leaving the Café Musain, Combeferre checked for oncoming traffic – he always made sure to look both ways upon crossing the street, especially after the unfortunate incident with Bossuet and the cart full of angry fresh lobsters – made a left, and headed towards Marius' place. This was not, of course, from any desire to see Marius, but because the first time he had seen his love, she had been lurking about a block away from the Old Gorbeau House. Combeferre felt a dreamy smile creep onto his face just thinking about it.
That evening, he had actually been planning on visiting Marius, after Courfeyrac and Bossuet had mentioned passing him in the street. Courfeyrac, chuckling, had added that he seemed to be stalking an older man, a poet of some sort, and had proceeded to make some rather bawdy jokes that had a fair bit in common with his comments about Joly and Bossuet. Combeferre had found himself rather worried about the poor boy. After all, Marius was right at the age where it was easy to become confused on all sorts of things, besides the fact that he was already a little strange in the head, and if he had in fact decided to fall madly in love with a dubious-looking older poet, he should be able to talk to someone about it who would give him sound advice rather than either collapsing into giggles, like Courfeyrac, or trying to snag him a hooker, as Bahorel or Grantaire undoubtedly would. Joly and Bossuet would of course automatically assume that this was another one of Courfeyrac's tricks to get them to come out of the closet, and Feuilly, while generally a sensible chap, was far too busy to waste time on Marius' issues of sexual identity, or any of Marius' other issues, for that matter. Jean Prouvaire would probably stop somewhere along the way to scribble down a poem about a lost shoe and completely forget about his original errand, and Enjolras was simply out of the question, for a multitude of reasons. As usual, Combeferre, despite his relative inexperience in such matters, had no alternative but to go himself.
On the way there, his boot had become untied, and he had stopped in a corner to refasten it. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he had seen, lurking in a dark corner, a vision of pure loveliness. At least, he was fairly sure it was a vision of pure loveliness – it had been, after all, rather dark and misty that night, and he hadn't been able to see much more of the fantastic sylph than blonde hair, fiery green eyes and a vague blob of a face before the vision fastened on a mask, in a businesslike manner, effectively blocking his view. "Damn Thénardier," she had muttered, in a voice like a bell – perhaps a rusty bell, but a bell nonetheless – and slipped away towards Marius' place. Combeferre had tried to pursue, but in his newfound rapture he had forgotten to finish tying his shoelaces. The ensuing tumble left him quite senseless for a moment, and when he had brushed himself off and looked around again for his new love, she was gone.
Combeferre had, of course, tried to finish his errand responsibly – Marius still needed help, and lots of it, even if Combeferre had been suddenly shot through the heart by a mysterious vision in the fog – but when he reached the Old Gorbeau house, he had seen Javert waiting outside. As Javert was apparently the only police officer in Paris, and perhaps even all of France, Combeferre knew Javert quite well from pulling various of the Amis out of various tight spots they had gotten themselves in. He got along with Javert. They did logic puzzles together on occasion, and when Javert had guest-taught a D.A.R.E. class for a semester at the University, Combeferre had gotten the highest marks in the class. (This might have been because a good many students never showed up – probably worried about the rumor that he had collared four pupils his first period for Suspicious Loafing With Bread. Combeferre had often tried to explain that the rumor was entirely unsubstantiated, but to little avail.) In any case, however, despite their long history of amicable relations, Combeferre hadn't been sure he felt up to dealing with the police inspector in his stunned state – and anyways, he had been so busy that he hadn't even gotten a start on the latest logic puzzle, and Javert had probably already finished it, and he would be humiliated for life if he talked to him before getting the answer.
So Combeferre had told himself that he would deal with Marius later, and gone home to bed, so full with thoughts of the golden-haired girl that he hadn't even studied for his quizzes in New Renaissance Theory in Art, Robespierrian Economics, and Advanced Polish Fan-Making (an independent study he was taking from Feuilly – after all, more knowledge never hurt.) It didn't really matter, since he knew all the information by heart anyways, but still, it was disconcerting – Combeferre always studied. At that point, he had known that he was in love.
These musings had brought him as far as the Old Gorbeau House. Combeferre had later learned that there had been a robbery there the night he had seen his love, which had been the reason for both Marius' strange behavior and Javert's presence by the door. Hopefully news of such violent goings-on wouldn't scare the beauty away. He had two hours before his class in Ancient Sumerian Writings, so he settled down into a dark corner and waited.
He was just about to give up and go home when he heard a voice that sent delicious chills up and down his spine, chills that would have had Joly in bed for a week. "So Thénardier, his husband – excuse me, his wife, but you admit it's an easy mistake to make – and their brats were all hauled off to prison?"
Combeferre squinted around the corner of his nook, and could just make out a vague dark silhouette a ways down the street. The person the silhouette was addressing was easier to make out – it looked, in fact, like a beautiful blonde young man, a bit like a better-groomed Enjolras. He could tell it wasn't Enjolras, however, because instead of making a fiery speech about the freedom of the people and the injustice of the corrupt gendarmes, the blonde youth simply said, "Yes, all except the littlest môme – you know, the elephant kid?"
"I know him," said the vision disdainfully. "I know everyone, 'Parnasse. I know things about yourself that you don't even know. How's Eponine, by the way?" Combeferre relaxed – for a minute he had been afraid . . . but no, the blonde youth obviously had a girlfriend (further proof that it wasn't Enjolras – there was a rumor going around that Enjolras still believed babies came from the stork) and was therefore not any kind of threat to the virtue of his mist-maiden.
"Aside from in prison?" asked the blonde boy sarcastically. "Oh, she's fine. Moony, irritable, fussing over her new hat . . . you know how women are."
Combeferre blinked a little at this. This wasn't generally the sort of comment one made to a woman – at least, not if one wanted to escape unslapped.
The vision seemed to share this general opinion. "Have you ever stopped to wonder that perhaps the reason she's moony and irritable is because of you?"
"Because of me?" The blonde boy sounded startled. "Don't be silly, Claquesous, you know every grisette in the area wants a piece of my gorgeous body and elegant fashion sense . . ."
A name! Combeferre forgot all his puzzlement with this revelation. At last, something to go on – a name to carve into the tables at Corinth, to make up bad love poetry about, to doodle into his textbooks . . . well, not doodle in his textbooks, because Combeferre would never dream of defacing school property, but at least doodle in the margins of his notebooks. And what a beautiful name, too – Claque-Sue!
