"This…this is a joke, right?" asked Courfeyrac nervously, trying to smile and failing miserably. "I mean, it's Enjolras! He can't be ill. He seemed fine earlier!"
"I knew he was ill!" Combeferre's voice was shaking. "But I didn't send for a doctor! He told me it was just a cold and I said I'd let him be for today! How could I have been so easily persuaded? I knew it was more serious!"
"Hey, come on, Etienne. Don't be so hard on yourself! You couldn't have known that this would happen." Joly knelt beside him and laid his hand on Enjolras's burning forehead. "God almighty, his temperature is searing!"
"It wasn't this high earlier, Christophe!" pleaded Combeferre desperately. "You know I'd never have let him leave our rooms if it was!"
"We know that, mon ami," LeClair put a steady hand on Combeferre's shoulder, secretly glad that the sudden whiteness of his face would be attributed to the surprise of this, and not to his own concealed illness.
"I'll have to take him home," said Combeferre, distress written all over his gentle face, as he began to pull his friend into a sitting position.
"I'll fetch a doctor," said Joly calmly. "I'll meet you there."
"I'll carry him, Etienne," said Grantaire quietly, coming to stand beside him. "I'm heavier than you are. It would be easier."
Combeferre looked up in shock. Apparently a way had finally been found to make the group sceptic and the unruly Courfeyrac sober up – get Julien to faint and scare them to death. It might have been funny, had it not been so deadly serious.
"All right, Luc," Combeferre replied, standing aside as Grantaire easily lifted Enjolras's slender body off the ground.
"I think the rest of us should call it a night and head home, mes amis," said Bahorel, also suddenly uncharacteristically solemn. "There's no sense in us all traipsing back to Etienne's appartment and no one will enjoy themselves knowing that Julien is lying unconscious. Etienne, may we call tomorrow and see how he is?"
"Of course, thank you Sebastien," said Combeferre weakly, getting to his feet. "Goodnight." Bahorel, Feuilly and L'Aigle departed sadly, casting worried glances at the unconscious young man in Grantaire's arms.
"I will head off too, Etienne," said LeClair quietly, laying a reassuring hand on Combeferre's arm. It went against all his instincts to leave now – he would have much rather accompanied his friends home, but he felt like he was going to be sick any moment and did not want Combeferre and the others to worry any more than they currently were. "Don't worry about Julien; he'll be fine. He's tougher than any of the rest of us!"
"I'm sure you're right, Claude. Goodnight." replied Combeferre, trying to smile. His fellow medical student followed the others out of the door, leaving only Combeferre, Prouvaire, Courfeyrac (who lived in the same building as Enjolras and Combeferre did) and Grantaire in the room.
"Come on then," said Grantaire. "Christophe and the doctor will be there before us."
Grantaire made his way out of the door, carefully carrying his unconscious hero, while the others followed, Prouvaire putting a comforting arm around the distraught Combeferre's shoulders.
"You can't blame yourself, Etienne," he whispered. "You know what he's like; if he decided he was fine, there was no way you could have persuaded him to send for a doctor."
"But I could have sent for one!" said Combeferre unhappily, but at an unusually stern look from the meek young poet, he gave a sigh of resignation. "I suppose you're right, Jehan. He is too stubborn for his own good!"
"I know," said Jehan. "But he wouldn't be our 'fearless leader' if he wasn't!"
"I suppose not," Combeferre smiled ruefully. "But if he ever lies to me like this again, God have mercy on him – because I will not!" Prouvaire gave a small laugh and hurried to open the door for Grantaire as they reached the building where their apartments were.
They negotiated the stairs slowly and waited while Combeferre opened the front door. Once inside, Prouvaire wisely went to make everyone a cup of tea, while Grantaire carried Enjolras through to his bed, where Combeferre stripped him down to his shirt and pulled the covers up over him.
"Julien! Come on, Julien, wake up!" he pleaded. "Just let me know you're conscious, mon ami! Come on!" It was no use; Enjolras was as still and quiet as the statue Grantaire was always comparing him to.
"He is going to be all right, isn't he?" asked Grantaire, and Combeferre looked up to see genuine fear in the dark-haired sceptic's eyes. "I mean, it isn't serious, is it?"
"I hope not," said Combeferre. "Luc, I'd be lost without him! We all would!"
"I know!" replied Grantaire, gravelly. "I realise that I tease him a lot, but I don't mean it disrespectfully, Etienne. I'd do anything for him, I swear!"
"He knows, Luc," Combeferre was touched by this sudden show of loyalty. "He does know! Jerôme will you stop darting about like a headless chicken! You are making me even more nervous!" This last remark was thrown at the now highly-strung Courfeyrac who was pacing back and forth in all directions with a stricken look on his face.
"What?" Courfeyrac looked up, not having heard a word other than his name. "Oh. Sorry." He forced himself to stand still, leaning on the doorframe.
"You know Jerôme, the next time you and Grantaire decide to drive Enjolras to distraction between you, I am going to describe to him the looks of panic on your faces when Etienne told everyone he was sick!" came the dry comment from Joly as he entered the room with an elderly doctor.
"Go to the devil, Joly!" said Courfeyrac snarkily, as Combeferre got up to greet the doctor. He was glad to see that Joly had fetched Monsieur de Lassan, who had been their lecturer several times and was on friendly terms with them both.
"Bon soir, Monsieur," he greeted him warmly. "I'm so grateful to you for coming."
"Not at all," replied Doctor Lassan with a paternal smile. "I'm always glad to be able to help two of my best students. "It is your friend Enjolras you'd like me to look at, yes?"
"Yes," Combeferre gestured to the unconscious young man in the bed, beginning to get worked up again. "He coughed all night, then he fainted dead away, and his temperature is shockingly high!"
"Hmm. Sounds like the influenza to me," Doctor Lassan rummaged in his bag and went to kneel beside his patient. He began to listen to Enjolras's chest and count his pulse. "There is a lot of it going around, you know."
"We know!" yelled the exasperated Courfeyrac. "All we need to know is whether Julien is going to be all right or not!"
Lassan smiled to himself and this interruption and watched in amusement as Joly shepherded Courfeyrac and Grantaire into the care of the steady Jean Prouvaire in the sitting room, closing the door behind them.
"It's…strange," Joly muttered sadly as he returned, coming to stand beside Combeferre. "However much we laugh at Grantaire for all his 'Mighty Apollo' nonsense, we all really believe that Julien is indestructible, don't we?"
"I know," Combeferre choked, tears welling up in his eyes again. "And it scares me too death seeing him like this, Christophe. He's my best friend; he's closer than a brother to me! I don't know what I'll do if he…if he..." The young medical student bit back a sob.
Joly drew Combeferre into a fraternal, comforting embrace, while the Doctor looked up from his examination. "Don't fret so much, Etienne, my lad." he said gently, seeing the pure fear and worry in Combeferre's dark brown eyes. "It is the influenza, I'm afraid, and it's developed into a fever – but he seems a strong young man. He should recover."
"Should?" the undertone of panic was noticeable in Joly's voice.
"One never really can tell with illnesses like these, you two should know that." said Doctor de Lassan. "It can kill, or the patient can recover completely. From my experience, if the patient is strong and well tended, they have a very good chance of recovery - I can see your friend seems otherwise strong and healthy and, what with all the panic I've witnessed regarding his health, will be very attentively nursed. He should do just fine."
Joly sighed in relief and slipped out of the room, while the Doctor began instructing Combeferre on how to break the fever and gave him a bottle of medicine to dose Enjolras with. He found a forlorn Prouvaire and a white-faced Grantaire sitting quietly on the settee, while Courfeyrac had resumed his pacing.
"What's the matter with him?" came three voices at once, as soon as they set eyes on Joly.
The young hypochondriac sighed; he'd best be honest. "He's got the influenza," he said calmly. "And it has developed into a fever…"
"But you can die from that." Courfeyrac interrupted, horrified.
"I know, Jerôme!"
"But Julien can't die!" yelled Courfeyrac angrily. "He's the dependable one! He's the one who's supposed to…"
"Let him finish, Jerôme!" said Prouvaire gently. "Go on, Christophe."
"As I was saying, he's got a bad fever, and yes, it can kill in some cases." continued Joly. "But Julien is strong and the doctor says he should pull through. Even if he has to stay alive by sheer determination, Julien will get by. He has enough stubbornness for two!"
"I hope so!" said Courfeyrac despondently. "I don't want him to die thinking I'm an idiot! I want to prove I'm better than I act. I want him to know that I'd follow him anywhere."
"And you can prove that to him when he wakes up!" said Prouvaire, his voice suddenly becoming less delicate, deliberately using 'when' and not 'if'. "Let us be optimistic, my friends. Julien has never let us down before."
"Enjolras won't give up, said Grantaire determinedly. "He can't give up!"
Doctor de Lassan departed soon after, and the five young men sat nervously in the sitting room, drinking the last of the tea before Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Joly and Grantaire left too.
"I'm going to miss the lecture tomorrow, Christophe," said Combeferre bleakly as they stood in the doorway. "All things considered, I'd rather stay here in case Julien wakes up. It's the last one of the week, so it's nothing should not be of paramount importance."
"I'll lend you my notes afterwards," promised Joly. "In the meantime, don't panic too much, Etienne. He'll be fine, you'll see."
"I hope so. Thank you for all your help, my friends," replied Combeferre. "It meant a lot to me."
"Don't mention it Etienne." Prouvaire smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "We all think highly of Julien and we were all happy to help. We'll come and see how he is tomorrow, all right?" Combeferre nodded, as Prouvaire turned to Joly and Grantaire.
"You two are more than welcome to stay with Courfeyrac and I tonight. It will save you wandering home alone so late." Joly and Grantaire accepted the offer gratefully and they all went down the stairs together, calling goodnight to Combeferre.
"Goodnight, my friends," Combeferre replied, before shutting the door and letting the tears he had been fighting all evening flow free at last.
He was a medical student – he knew how deadly this illness could be, regardless of the strength of the patient. Influenza was a killer, and fever was even more deadly. The severity of Enjolras's situation was making him feel sick with worry, despite the doctor's optimistic predictions.
He went back through to the bedroom and sat on the edge of Enjolras's bed, looking at his lifeless best friend with tear-filled eyes.
"You better pull through this, Julien!" he said unsteadily, his voice shaking. "I'll never get by without you!"