I've decided to finally get round to polishing up this story. This was my first piece published on the site in 2006, and remains one of my favourites, so I've decided to tidy it up a little. Reviews are still gratefully recieved, even though the story is four years old now.
1829
The scene in the Café Musain on that September lunchtime was very much as it always was. The solemn countenance of Enjolras was partially hidden as he poured over the content of a sizeable Latin law volume; Combeferre was methodically working through his own latest piece of coursework on the details measles; Courfeyrac, despite being a law student himself with a large workload, had decided that his free morning was better spent in irritating Enjolras by tickling the back of his neck with his pen every few minutes and then hurriedly looking away with an innocent expression; Joly was holding up a spoon to look at the colour of his tongue in the reflection, utterly convinced that he had every symptom which Combeferre was writing down; Bahorel was animatedly describing the brawl he had participated in last night to an amused Feuilly, who was deftly stitching some intricate pattern on one of the fans he had produced earlier that day; L'aigle was cheerfully bemoaning his complete lack of luck and nursing a fierce scuff on his forehead, having walked into the door post on his way inside; Jean Prouvaire, the dreamer of the group, repeatedly wrote a few lines before crossing them out, as he struggled to write the second stanza of his latest poem…and Grantaire had a hangover.
"I've got Koplik spots! I know I have! Look at me! I'm coming down with the measles!" groaned a distressed Joly, as clearly as he could around his protruding tongue.
"I shall never understand, Joly, why your parents ever allowed you to study medicine!" said Courfeyrac with a teasing grin. "I've never met such a profound hypochondriac! I pity your future patients – ten minutes in your consulting room, and you shall be throwing them out lest they pass on any illness!"
"You do not have the symptoms of measles, Christophe!" said Combeferre with exaggerated patience, shaking his head in amusement as he looked up from his essay. "There is nothing whatsoever wrong with you, except your over-active imagination!"
"Count your blessings! It could be worse, my friend," groaned Grantaire, in a hoarse voice, not bothering to remove his forehead from the tabletop. "You could have an overactive headache, like me!"
Enjolras discreetly rolled his eyes, a sneer momentarily marring his well-sculpted face, as he turned his attention back to his book. Suddenly, he felt a light tickle on the back of his neck again. He looked around, with a glare that could turn a person to stone, and saw Courfeyrac putting on his most innocent expression, while pretending to study his own copy of the textbook, which incidentally was upside down. Very convincing.
"Speaking of illness, there is something of an influenza epidemic on the loose, so I've heard," said the quiet Prouvaire, twirling his pen between his fingers. "Apparently quite a serious one too."
At that, Joly gave a horrified groan, muttered something about never coming out of his room again and began to frantically feel the glands at his throat. The two crowded tables erupted in laughter and Joly ceased panicking for a moment to look indignant.
"My friend, if that is all you think about, you soon will be ill," said Combeferre wisely; knowing from extensive experience that Joly was capable of being a perfectly cheerful fellow when he wasn't convinced he was dying. "Mind over matter, you know... do talk about something else! What did you think of the lecture this morning?" Joly's face brightened at that, and out of the corner of his eyes, Combeferre saw a grinning Courfeyrac reaching for Enjolras's neck again.
"I thought it was fascinating; the way he told us he could use a scalpel to…" began Joly eagerly, before he was silenced by the slam of a heavy book and Enjolras's furious voice:
"Mais oui and if Courfeyrac does not leave my neck alone, Courfeyrac is going to find himself with a scalpel up his…"
"Language Apollo!" grinned Courfeyrac, which made Enjolras's eyes narrow dangerously. If there was sure way to make him even angrier, it was to call him that awful nickname of Grantaire's! Courfeyrac noticed the icy expression on his friend's face, and hurriedly scooted his chair further around the table; out of Enjolras's reach.
"Calm down, Julien," said Combeferre softly, laying a gentle hand on Enjolras's arm. "You fall for it every time. I know you're stressed and…"
"I am not stressed!" groaned Enjolras in frustration, turning his frown towards Combeferre, only to have it soften at the sight of his friend's affectionate smile. Why am I so touchy today? He thought to himself as he raised a hand to rub his eyes. Maybe it was because he didn't sleep well last night, or because of the pounding headache he was currently suffering, but refusing to admit to. Whatever it was, Combeferre certainly did not deserve his anger! He sighed contritely. "Sorry, Etienne. I did not mean to snap at you."
"It's fine, my friend. Think nothing of it. I just do not like to see you so uptight," said Combeferre, still smiling. He and Enjolras had been companions since childhood, and the two had such a close friendship that Combeferre knew his friend almost as well as he knew himself. And he could clearly tell that Enjolras needed a break – the others too! It was clear that everyone was over-working; the signs were easy to see. When stressed, Enjolras became irritable, Courfeyrac became childish....well, even more childish that usual, Joly was convinced he was dying and even Feuilly, the least highly strung of the group, became snarky and touchy. "In my opinion, we are all of us working too hard right now. I think a night of relaxation would do everyone world of good."
"Good idea!" said Courfeyrac enthusiastically; always ready to welcome any excuse for procrastination. "I could use a break from all this studying!"
"Studying?" Enjolras exploded again; once more losing his usual controlled demeanour. "Jerôme, you haven't done a single ounce of work all bloody morning! All you have done is sigh all through the lecture and copy my notes!"
Luckily for Courfeyrac, he was spared any further recriminations from Enjolras by the entrance of the last member of their group, Claude LeClair, with an armful of books.
"Bonjour Claude!" said Prouvaire enthusiastically, welcoming LeClair's timely arrival as a distraction from the argument that was bound to ensue between Courfeyrac and Enjolras.
"Bonjour mes amis," replied LeClair, with his natural easy smile. He sat down on the last vacant seat, next to Bahorel. "I'm sorry I am so late today. What have I missed?"
"Nothing of important, minus the mighty Apollo trying to reduce Courfeyrac to a pile of rubble," grinned Grantaire, before he winced and cradled his head again; the previous night's over indulgence had been rather extreme, even for Grantaire, and now he was suffering for it.
Just ignore him! Enjolras sternly told himself as the rest of the young men laughed. He very seldom had time for Grantaire's nonsensical musings or teasing comments, even on the best of days. Today, however, his excruciating headache meant that he found the drunkard even more irritating than usual and it took supreme effort not to lose his temper again.
"Here is the book you lent me, Enjolras," LeClair said cheerfully, distracting the blond-headed student from his headache and irritation. He handed The Speeches of Robespierre across the table. "Thank you, it was very interesting."
"Not at all," Enjolras made himself smile in return. "I'm glad you enjoyed it; I thought you would find it interesting."
It really was quite difficult to remain irritated around LeClair. His naturally easy-going disposition meant that he laughed easily, was seldom offended and was always ready to offer assistance if he thought he could provide it. Loyal by nature, and determined to see the good in everyone LeClair was – like both Prouvaire and Combeferre – fast friends with every one of the amis, while the others in the group were inclined to clash from time to time...Enjolras and Grantaire frequently had their moments, and one really did not want to be around when Joly and Bahorel were at each other's throats!
LeClair was a student, as were Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Joly and L'aigle. But, unlike most of his fellows, he was exceptionally poor. He had gained entrance to the university through sheer luck, thanks to a small inheritance, but that was only enough to pay his tuition. He had sold absolutely everything he could afford to get rid of in order to purchase his equipment – for he took his studies very seriously – and the result was that he lived in extreme poverty, though was perfectly cheerful about it. He had a mind that was constantly eager for knowledge and he consequently found the gatherings of the Amis de l'ABC (a pun devised by Courfeyrac), and their conversations on everything from politics to poetry, to be enthralling and so never missed a meeting.
"We were just saying that everyone is over-stressed at the moment, what with all the additional coursework we have been getting," said Combeferre, laying his pen down again and stretching languidly . "I was suggesting that we meet here in the Musain tomorrow night for a few drinks and have a night free from work. It would help everyone to wind down."
"I think that is a good idea!" said Bahorel amiably. "It would certainly liven things up a bit – you are all too serious, these days! At any rate, it ought to keep me from getting involved in another brawl." He rubbed his knuckles ruefully.
"We can live in hope, my friend," Prouvaire laughed merrily. "But I agree; it would be nice to take it easy for a change. With the examinations looming, I don't think we've had an evening off for weeks."
"Well I certainly shan't differ from Bahorel's opinion," laughed LeClair lightly. "I value my face too much, and I have no wish to add to the bruises on his knuckles!" That was a joke, and everyone knew it; for however many fights Bahorel got into after leaving the group meetings, he had never resorted to blows with any of his friends, not even during his famous rows with Joly.
The others laughed at LeClair's teasing comments, the previous tension in the room gone – though Enjolras looked alarmingly white faced, and was a lot quieter than usual. Combeferre was therefore relieved when his solemn best friend agreed, as the remainder of the group did to put his studies aside for a night and gather in the café the following evening for a purely social meeting. He broke from his musings to look at his pocket-watch and hurriedly gathered up his books, beckoning to Joly and LeClair.
"Well, much as I'd love to stay here, we three have a class," he said genially as he got to his feet. "Enjolras, Courfeyrac, so do you, remember?" Courfeyrac gave a dramatic groan.
"Pardon?" said Enjolras distractedly, as his friend looked at him with obvious concern. "Oh, yes, so I have." He got to his feet, running his hands through his hair, looking profoundly exhausted.
"I think you should get some sleep, Enjolras." said Prouvaire gently. "You look as though you need it."
"Thank you, Jehan," Enjolras gave a weak smile at the young poet. "I will."
"And he has the perfect opportunity during the next two hours!" grinned Courfeyrac, looking for a book he had put into his satchel moments before. "We have a lecture from Professor Artoire, and sleeping is certainly the only thing on my agenda!"
Combeferre shook his head in amusement as he and Enjolras walked across to the door, before he turned to his friend with a serious face. "Julien, are you sure you're alright?" he pressed worriedly, as Joly, LeClaur and Courfeyrac joined them, calling farewells to the others.
"Fine, Etienne, I'm fine," Enjolras insisted wearily. "I am just tired, there's no need to fuss!"
Combeferre was not convinced, but decided to say nothing as they left the café to the call of: "Farewell, Mighty Apollo!"
All in all, it was probably a very good thing that Enjolras did not have the energy to reply – Grantaire might have regretted that!