It took a couple of weeks of awkwardness before things went back to normal between Combeferre and Eponine. Although both had tried to pretend nothing had really happened, their drunken night together simply wouldn't go away. Combeferre never knew how many hours Eponine spent crying over him with Cosette, the blonde encouraging her friend to just tell him how she felt.
"He'll never feel that way about me," Eponine had sobbed. "It'd be Marius all over again. I mean, he still loves Rachael, and I'm not Rachael."
"No, you're actually nice," Cosette said dryly.
"I meant that she's smart!"
"Not smart enough to not cheat on him and break his heart. You'd never do that."
"No, but I'm just the friend who failed high school and is having to work stupid hours in three different jobs simply to afford rent. I'm not good enough for him."
"As long as you think like that, you won't be," Cosette told her. "As soon as you believe in yourself, you'll be perfect for him. Trust me. You'll see. Besides, it's your own fault for mentioning one-night stands."
"I didn't think he'd choose me!"
"Well he did, so quit complaining and make a move!"
Meanwhile, Combeferre was still moping over Rachael. His heart was starting to heal, but it was a slow process, and every time he found something new of her's in their house he had to work not to break down again. For the first time in the months since Enjolras had left he found himself starting to understand a little of what Grantaire had gone through.
Christmas was made miserable by the two men's moods, both missing the people who had been by their sides the year before. Try as they did to join in the festivities, it wasn't long before Grantaire was longing for a drink and Combeferre staring out of the window, wondering if she was with Hugo.
"Is Combeferre driving anyone else up the wall?" Courfeyrac demanded soon after, looking round the group gathered in their kitchen. He'd called the emergency meeting the moment Combeferre had announced he'd be away at a university conference in London for a couple of days, and all the friends had shown up.
"That depends. Are we talking about the moping and depression, or his habit of quoting philosophers at everyone and being a brainbox? Because we're kinda used to the last one," Bahorel joked, trying to lighten the mood a little.
"The former." Courfeyrac sighed and rested his chin in his hand. "I've run out of ideas. We've tried just about everything we can think of, but he won't listen to us."
"One-night stand," Bahorel said instantly, but Eponine simply shook her head.
"He had one. Didn't work," she mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes fully.
"Fine, then try hooking him up with someone properly."
"Like a girlfriend?" Courfeyrac clarified, mind already ticking away.
"Exactly like a girlfriend," Bahorel replied.
"Leave it with me," he smiled.
Combeferre couldn't help but feel annoyed as he waited in the pub for Courfeyrac to show up. Pulling out his phone he sent a quick text asking whether Courfeyrac was going to bother showing up at all that night, sighing as he put it away again.
"Another beer please," he called over to the barman, holding up his empty bottle.
"I'll have the same," a female voice said from beside him and he glanced up at the short-haired blonde who was now occupying the barstool next to him. "Stood up?" she inquired with a sympathetic smile.
"Only by my idiot best friend," he shrugged. "It's something I've grown used to. He's probably just been distracted by something."
"Maybe you should consider getting a new friend to go drinking with, that way you're not stuck sat on your own," she suggested, turning more to face him. Combeferre simply shook his head.
"'Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant'," he said quietly, taking a drink.
"That sounds like a quote of some sort, so I'm just going to nod and pretend I know exactly who said it."
"Socrates," he told her.
"Ah, the philosopher. Sadly science and philosophy don't really mix, so that's about all I know of philosophy." She smiled at him again and extended her hand. "The name's Heather by the way."
"Combeferre." They shook as she started speaking again.
"So you clearly know something about philosophy from the fact you're randomly quoting it at me. By the way, the whole quoting philosophy at girls thing... How's that working for you as a technique?" Combeferre couldn't help but laugh.
"'Every action has its pleasures, and its price'," he said, a hint of a smile finally showing on his face. "Though this is the first time I've tried it, so I'll have to let you know."
"With the right girl you might get lucky... Unless you already have the right girl of course," Heather added on quickly. Combeferre's smile faded instantly.
"Not anymore," he said softly.
"Ah. Sorry." Seeing Courfeyrac enter, glance round then head towards them, Heather stood. "I think your friend is here." And with that she left.
"Ooh, hitting on hot chicks already?" Courfeyrac joked lightly, appraising Heather as she walked away. "Well, hot-ish."
"You know, sometimes I wonder if Seneca was right when he said that friendship always benefits," Combeferre commented, rolling his eyes. "I was not hitting on her, we were simply talking. About philosophy if you must know." Courfeyrac pulled a quick face.
"Yeah, definitely not hitting on her. Although, you know what they say - 'The journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step'."
Combeferre stared at his friend.
"You know, sometimes I forget you do actually have a brain," he commented dryly. "Especially as you so often manage to keep it so well hidden."
"I live to surprise," Courfeyrac grinned. "Now I believe I'm a few drinks behind."
Courfeyrac: It worked. I was half an hour late, and when I arrived he was chatting up this girl.
Eponine: ...
Eponine: Chatting up? That really doesn't sound like 'Ferre.
Courfeyrac: Well, not so much chatting up as chatting to, but who cares. It's a start.
Eponine: Don't you think we should be giving him time to move on first?
Courfeyrac: But he's taking too long over it and between the moping from him and Grantaire, someone is going to end up getting murdered before too long.
Eponine: They both got their hearts broken.
Courfeyrac: Yes, but it's been months. They have to move on eventually.
Eponine:You amaze me sometimes. How can you love a poet yet still have the emotional range of an espresso spoon?
Courfeyrac:Well they do! And I do not love him!
Eponine:From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate.
Eponine:Give them time.
Eponine: I mean it.
Eponine: Or I will hurt you.
Eponine: And yeah right.
Courfeyrac: Fine, I'll give them time.
Courfeyrac: And is there anyone in our group who doesn't quote bloody philosophy?!
Eponine: Blame 'Ferre and Jehan.
When Combeferre next bumped into Heather it was in the same bar. He was sat in the corner this time, though was once again waiting for Courfeyrac. When the text arrived telling him "something" had come up and Courfeyrac would be later than normal, he sighed and finished his drink, standing to leave.
"Hello again," he heard as he shrugged on his jacket. Combeferre felt a small smile cross his face as he turned to look at Heather. "I was going to ask if this chair was taken, but I'm guessing your friend has stood you up again."
"If we were dating, that would be the case, but we're not. My actual problem is the fact he has a life and therefore forgets he's meant to be meeting me after work. Like I said last time, I'm used to it."
"Well, if you want some company..." she offered.
"That would be nice," he admitted, sitting back down again as she placed her drink on the table. "Look, I should apologise for last time we met. I didn't mean to just quote long dead philosophers at you. It had been a bad day, that's all, and it's just something I occasionally find myself doing."
"Oh that's alright. I rather enjoyed it. Not everyday you learn something new at the pub. In fact, feel free to carry on with the quoting of those long dead philosophers." Smirking, Heather winked at Combeferre. "'I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance' after all."
"I thought you knew nothing about philosophy."
"I may have possibly done some research." She shrugged. "It's actually kinda fascinating, even though I don't understand much, if any indeed any, of it."
"Ah, but that's partly what philosophy is about. Voltaire once said that 'When he who hears does not know what he who speaks mean, and when he who speaks does not know what he himself means, that is philosophy'."
"Yes, but Voltaire also said that 'God is not on the side of the big battalions, but of the best shots'," Heather countered. "Yet that wasn't the case in the failed revolution of 1932, and that was in his own country." She blushed slightly at his appraising look. "That one was in Sharpe."
"And there was me getting impressed," he laughed. "Him saying these things doesn't make him right. After all, 'the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing'."
"Then when it comes to philosophy I must be the wisest person on the planet," Heather grinned, Combeferre smiling back.
"According to Socrates, yes. He thought that the wisest man alive was the one who knew only one thing - that they knew nothing. That's probably his most famous quote."
"Yes, I have heard that one before." Heather tilted her head to one side and considered Combeferre. "So you believe that philosophy is when you haven't a clue what you're prattling on about. Why do you do it then? Why study it? At least, I'm assuming you study it."
"I do, and, well, it's hard to explain. I love philosophy because it makes me think. Besides, dubito ergo cogito, cogito ergo sum."
"The last part is I think therefore I am, right?"
"Yeah. In English the entire thing is I doubt therefore I think, I think therefore I am. For me, that's what being human is all about, and is also the very essence of philosophy. Plus the unexamined life is not worth living."
"You really do know far too many of these quotes," she laughed, finally remembering her beer sat on the table and taking a drink.
"I am so so so so sorry I'm late, I was half-expecting you to have left already, I totally blame my boss- oh! Oh god, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt anything." Courfeyrac changed his tune the second he saw Heather, having simply run over and started babbling as soon as he arrived.
"You're not," Combeferre said quickly, at the same time as Heather stood.
"I need to be leaving anyway. It was nice to see you again," she said with a smile to Combeferre.
"Yeah, you too." He returned the smile as she left.
"Nice chat?" Courfeyrac inquired as he dropped into Heather's now vacant chair.
"We were talking about philosophers," Combeferre replied absently, frowning when he saw Courfeyrac's shocked expression. "What?"
"Dude, you just sat here with a fit girl and discussed philosophers? And then just let her walk away without getting her number or passing yours on or at least kissing her? Or asking her out?" Courfeyrac groaned when Combeferre shrugged.
"And what's the problem with that?"
"The problem with that is that she is clearly interested in you man, and you're acting like an idiot. Yeah, I get that Rachael broke your heart, but not everyone is a bitch like her. Let this one in, you may be pleasantly surprised."
"Courfeyrac, you really should read Socrates at some point." At Courfeyrac's raised eyebrow Combeferre continued. "'Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.' There is no harm in getting to know someone before asking them out. Maybe if I had with Rachael, things wouldn't have ended quite so badly."
"You're talking philosophy. What exactly have you learnt?"
"That she's a scientist," Combeferre replied instantly. "That she's called Heather, and that she actually went away and researched some philosophy after the first time we spoke. Oh, and that she's a fan of Sharpe and knows her French history." He smiled slightly. "And that she has a good sense of humour."
"Next time, just ask for her number," Courfeyrac sighed, deciding it was probably best not to argue with his friend. He knew from experience he could never win.
The third time Combeferre saw Heather was in the university library. He was just placing his books back onto their shelves when he caught sight of her dropping her bag down by her feet and sliding into a chair, an overly-large textbook already on the desk in front of her.
Deciding to break with the pattern of their previous meetings he headed over, seating himself opposite.
"Hello there," he said softly, scanning down the page. "The statistics of conservational ecology. How fascinating."
"You could at least try and sound interested," she retorted, not looking up.
"Is it interesting?" he asked, continuing to read upside down.
"Not particularly," she admitted with a small smile, glancing up at him. "Not on paper anyway. Actually being out in the field doing it though, that's more fun."
"Ah, so basically the complete opposite of being a philosopher, many of whom sit around and read or write all day," Combeferre joked.
"Absolutely," she grinned. "We have a poster in one of the labs, a quote by Einstein. 'The man of science is a poor philosopher.' That's clearly why - we can't sit still long enough."
"Yes, but philosophy is the science which considers truth according to Aristotle."
Tilting her head to one side, Heather considered him for a moment.
"Then we are both scientists," she decided finally. "And therefore equals. See, in two minutes we managed to solve the rift separating the scientists from the humanities students. We should get a medal or the Nobel Peace Prize or something."
Combeferre couldn't help but laugh at the thought of this.
"Maybe not, but we are definitely equals," he agreed. "Though that could become a problem. I mean after all, once made equal to man, woman becomes his superior."
"Well I'm very glad to hear you know the truth," Heather smirked.
It was that smirk which made him make up his mind. Pulling a scrap of paper from his pocket, Combeferre quickly scrawled down his number as he stood, holding it out to her.
"I've got to go, I have a lecture, but I'll see you round," he said with a soft smile as she took it, pulling his bag back onto his shoulder and leaving, already feeling happier with life.
Heather: Hi, it's Heather. Not really sure what to say now other than just hi, probably should have looked up a quote or something as that seems to be our "thing". :P Now really hoping you've not given me a prank number or something. So, yeah. Hi. Again. I think I'm just gonna shut up now.
Combeferre: Heather, hey. :) See, not a prank number. -Combeferre
Heather: So that's how you spell your name? Oh gawd, thank the stars I didn't try and write it in my first text. I think I tried spelling it every way but that.
Combeferre: I'm almost tempted to ask how you spelt it, but I'm not sure I want to know.
Heather: Trust me, you don't.
Heather: So how's you?
Combeferre:I'm good. Yourself?
Combeferre: Oh, and I was going to ask if you wanted to go to a party thing next week? A friend of mine just won a poetry competition so we're celebrating.
Heather: I'm fine, and I'm sorry. I'd love to come, I'm just away all next week on a field trip.
Combeferre: Oh. Well, enjoy your trip.
Heather: I get back on the Sunday morning. We could always meet up sometime the week after? Maybe go to the cinema? There's that big new film out.
Combeferre: Sure, sounds great. :) Tuesday maybe?
Heather: It's a date. :) See you then.
Combeferre spent longer than he was willing to admit preparing for the date, picking out his clothes carefully. He knew he'd chosen well when he arrived at the cinema, Heather taking one look at his t-shirt and laughing.
"Discworld. I'm impressed," she smiled.
"Gotta love Detritus and his attempts at philosophy," Combeferre smiled in return. The t-shirt was emblazoned with a picture of the troll in question, the words 'I fink, derefore I am... I fink' printed alongside him, and was one of the best presents Courfeyrac had ever got him.
"You look lovely by the way." If anything her smile widened at that, and Heather gave him a mini-curtsey, making them both laugh.
They headed into the film together, and if by the end they were holding hands, well, that was no-one's business but their own.
"Sooooooo," Courfeyrac said, dropping into the seat opposite Courfeyrac in their kitchen. "How're things going?"
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Combeferre replied, ignoring Courfeyrac and continuing to read.
"With Heather, dumbo." Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "I know you've been seeing her for the past few weeks so, how's it going?"
"Fine," Combeferre shrugged.
"God, you're worse than Enjolras ever was!"
"You ready to graduate?" Combeferre asked calmly.
"Now don't you try and change the subject! 'Fine' is not a decent way to talk about how your relationship is going, unless the relationship is going nowhere. So, you gonna answer me? Is it going nowhere? Or is it going well?"
"It's going well."
"Well, or well?"
"Courfeyrac, will you just quit with all the questions?" Combeferre snapped, finally losing his temper with his friend's incessant questioning. "It's my life, okay? You don't have to know everything."
"Fine," Courfeyrac accepted, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll leave you to it. But if you need any help or advice, you know where to come."
"Yeah, to Jehan," Combeferre murmured, though the small smile he gave his friend told Courfeyrac he was only joking.
"So when do I get to meet all your friends?" Heather asked one night, kissing idly at Combeferre jaw as they lay together in her bed.
"We're having a graduation party for Courfeyrac next week. Fancy coming?" Combeferre suggested, pulling her closer and resting his cheek against the top of her head.
"I'd love to," she smiled, closing her eyes as she started to drift off to sleep.
"Hey. Hey, you can't go to sleep yet, I need to get up."
"Let yourself out," she said sleepily, burrowing into the pillow as Combeferre managed to extract his arm from under her.
"Charming," he laughed, kissing her cheek as he stood and started to dress. "It's on Friday. I'll text you details."
When the night of the party came, both Combeferre and Heather felt nervous when he went to pick her up. "It'll be fine," he whispered, kissing her cheek lightly. "They're going to love you."
"Heather!" Courfeyrac cheered when they arrived at the house, clearly already having started on the drinking.
"Nice to finally meet you," Jehan said with a smile, heading over to the pair and introducing himself. "Here, let me introduce everyone."
Combeferre simply stood there and laughed quietly as Jehan managed to sweep his girlfriend off around the room to meet all of his different friends. That was when he noticed Eponine, practically hiding in a corner as she nursed her bottle of beer quietly.
"Not like you to stay tucked away like this," he said softly, sitting next to her and offering a new drink.
"I'm tired," she lied smoothly. "So that's your girlfriend."
"Yes, that's Heather."
Eponine studied her from a distance, watching how she interacted with everyone and, much as she wanted to hate her, she found that she couldn't, not in the way she'd disliked Rachael.
"She seems nice," she said reluctantly, only just hiding that reluctance from Combeferre.
"Well I'm very glad to here it," he smiled, giving her a quick one-armed hug. "Don't hide back here all night, okay?" And with that, he headed over to Heather, managing to steal her back from Jehan.
"I like all your friends," Heather said with a smile, leaning up and kissing Combeferre almost chastely on the lips.
"They like you," Combeferre replied. "I'm glad."
"Why Monsieur Combeferre, that sounds like you want things to continue in a serious manner for a while," she teased.
"Well maybe that's what exactly what I want." Bending, he whispered in her ear, "Stay here tonight."
Heather shivered slightly at the idea but smiled nonetheless. They'd had sex, yes, but this would be the first time they'd slept together the whole night.
"Of course I will," she murmured in reply, kissing him again.
"Jesus Christ Jehan, what are you wearing?!" Combeferre cried as Jehan skipped into the kitchen on Christmas day, Heather simply looking up from her cereal and bursting out laughing at the green and red monstrosity Jehan was wearing.
"It's a jumper," Jehan announced. "And it was a present."
"From who? Stevie Wonder?" Heather asked incredulously as she stood and placed her bowl in the sink.
"My mother."
"Then the two of you clearly have very similar fashion sense," she decided, kissing his cheek as she passed.
"And where are you going?" Combeferre inquired, leaning back in his chair as she headed for the door.
"For a shower." Trailing her fingers up his arm as she neared him, Heather leant down and kissed him. "See you soon," she whispered with a small smirk.
"If you have sex in our shower, Feuilly will never forgive you," Jehan warned.
"He'll live," Combeferre said absentmindedly, clearing his plate as fast as he could before following his girlfriend. Pausing in the doorway he glanced back. "Oh yeah. Merry christmas."
Jehan shook his head and went back to making his own breakfast. Over the past six months the other four inhabitants of the house had gotten used to Heather being around at all times of the day, though none of them would ever get used to the idea of Combeferre regularly getting more than any of them.
"Morning 'Taire," he said cheerfully when Grantaire slouched into the room, looking worse than ever. "What's up?"
"I can't see him," Grantaire mumbled, flopping down into a chair and dropping his head into his hands. "When I close my eyes, I can't see him."
"Who? Enjolras?" Jehan sighed when Grantaire nodded. "'Taire, maybe it's for the best...Or not," he amended, seeing Grantaire's expression. "Try using some context. Like, try and remember a particular event or something. If that doesn't work, then just forget him. You'll feel better for it in the end, trust me."
"Thanks," Grantaire muttered, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "Hey, happy Christmas mate."
"Yeah, happy Christmas to you too. Oh, and I would suggest not using the bathroom for a while. Ah, 'Ferre went up there for a shower, and he may not have been alone."
"Thanks for the warning."
"Have you told her yet?"
Combeferre jumped when he heard the words, not even having seen Jehan enter the library.
"Have I told her what?" he inquired, setting his pen down.
"That you love her silly."
"No. We're taking things slow."
Jehan sighed.
"'Ferre, it's been a year since you met her. I think you've succeeded in taking things slowly. Tell her now, before you graduate and have to start looking for jobs, because if you have to even consider working in a place outside of town then you both need to know how the other feels."
"Jehan, you're being ridiculou-"
"Am I?" the poet interrupted. "Me and Courf have already had a similar discussion because while he has work here, I may not find any. Just talk to her."
And with those final words still ringing in Combeferre's ears Jehan left him alone to his thoughts.
"Congratulations!" Heather squealed, throwing her arms round Combeferre. Laughing, he swung her round, kissing her deeply before setting her back on her feet again. "You never said you were graduating with a First!"
"It didn't seem that important. I mean, so are Jehan and Joly. You did when you graduated."
"Ah yes, but I then went back to university in a different place. You aren't doing, which makes this incredibly important for you. Now I think your friends are waiting for us, so come on. Bahorel and Courf have been planning this party for weeks."
"Wait," he said softly, catching her hand to stop her from walking away. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," she replied, a bright smile suddenly filling her face. "I love you too."
Neither knew that Eponine was standing nearby, hearing every word they both said.
"He told her he loves her, and she said it back," Eponine sobbed to Musichetta and Cosette the next day over coffee, both her friends looking sympathetic as they listened. "I've no chance now."
"I did warn you to make a move," Cosette sighed.
"What do I do?" Eponine asked helplessly, looking from one to the other.
As the trio sat there trying to think up anything which could help her (well, anything other than Musichetta's instant reply of "get laid"), they were greeted by someone they hadn't expected to see.
"Hey guys, I didn't know you came in here for drinks."
"We normally don't," Musichetta replied to Heather, turning in her chair and smiling up at the other woman. "However I fancied a day off and I can never get one in my cafe, so here we came."
"Are you okay Eponine?" Heather asked suddenly, noticing the tear streaks on the other woman's face.
"Fine," Eponine lied wth a weak smile.
"Relationship trouble," Cosette offered as an explanation when Heather lifted one eyebrow.
"Ah," Heather said sympathetically. "Well I'll see you all round anyway, I have to get to work. I hope things work out for you Eponine."
"No you don't," Eponine muttered as Heather walked out of the cafe. "Well she doesn't!" she protested when she saw the looks on her friends' faces. "If she did then she'd be losing the guy she loves, and she's hardly going to want that."
"Well you can let her win, or you can fight for him. It's up to you."
Eponine almost did take Musichetta's advice to fight for him, until she actually arrived at the house and saw the couple sat together in the garden. Both were lying in the grass, Heather's head nestled on Combeferre's lap as he played with her hair, a soft smile on his face. At that moment Eponine changed her mind. She might care for Combeferre, but enough that she didn't want to cause friction between them and lose him as a friend. The fact that he'd fallen for Heather, even more than he had for Rachael, was obvious the second you saw them together.
As the months passed they grew even closer, taking things slowly at first but eventually reaching the point where they were almost always together, whether at her flat or his house, and by Christmas they were considering taking the next step.
"I have to leave my flat this summer," she sighed on Christmas Eve as they prepared for bed. "I'm hopeful I can find a job quickly enough, or finding the money to pay for a new place could be interesting."
"We could try and find one together," Combeferre suggested hesitantly, glancing over at her. "I mean, I can't live here forever, and I have good jobs with the cafe and the library archives - jobs I shouldn't lose, fingers crossed."
"...That would be nice," Heather replied with a small smile, leaning over the bed to kiss him lightly.
"We've plenty of time to find somewhere," he smiled back, pulling her closer for a proper kiss as she moved back again.
"True," she murmured against his lips. "I love you."
"And I you."
"Tell me," Combeferre started one night when the days were starting to get warmer again, tracing patterns on Heather's arm as he spoke, "why did you agree to go out with me? I mean, I was just some crazy guy who seemed to only quote philosophers whenever talking to you. If I were you, I wouldn't have said yes to me."
"Because someone much cleverer than me once said that three things tell a man: his eyes, his friends and his favourite quotes." Heather smiled up at the ceiling. "Your quotes intrigued me, made me interested enough to come and talk to you again. They made you different from all the idiots that have tried to chat me up over the years. Your friends added to the idea that you were different. Courfeyrac seemed honestly surprised to see you with me the second time we met, making me realise that you clearly weren't accustomed to picking up girls in bars... Or rahter, if you were, then he knew nothing about it." Combeferre laughed at that.
"And my eyes?" he asked quietly.
"Ah, your eyes. Your eyes won me over." Pushing herself up onto one elbow, Heather gazed down into his eyes, cupping the side of his face with one hand as she did so. "Eyes are the windows to the soul, right? Well, your eyes told me everything I needed to know. They told me you were kind, caring, and loving. That you were hurt, in pain of some sort. That you were friendly and liked to laugh and smile, though you don't always show it. How you can be so serious and intense, but also scared, though I'm not entirely sure what of."
"I was scared of loving someone," he admitted softly, leaning up to kiss against the corner of her mouth. "I'd just gone through a bad breakup and she broke my heart, and I was scared of letting someone that close again."
"Except you let me in."
"You pulled me in," he whispered. "You didn't give up on me. You stuck with me, even though it took me a while to let you in."
"It was worth it," she decided, kissing him properly. "I love you."
"And I love you all the more for it," he finished, smiling up at her.
"Well then, this is probably a good time to tell you I found a flat." Heather couldn't help but smile when Combeferre sat up excitedly. "Now it's only four rooms but I thought the spare bedroom could be converted into a study, considering the amount of work we end up doing between us. It's not too expensive either, and it's in a good area of town, not too far from the library where you work. All in all, it seems a good place."
"We'd best go look at it sometime," he replied, eyes sparkling with excitement at the idea of their own home.
"The appointment with the owners is tomorrow. No time like the present and all that."
"I can't wait."
The flat really was perfect for them both, with views from the bedroom window which had both Combeferre and Heather joking that they'd never get up in a morning if they had the option of looking at that.
As it drew nearer and nearer to Heather's graduation date they accepted the flat and started moving their things across, until both their rooms continued only the bare necessities needed to live.
The actual day of her graduation dawned sunny, and Heather beamed across as Combeferre as she received her PhD.
"Well well well, Dr. Logano," he smiled after the presentation, bending to kiss her. "Congratulations on officially making me feel young."
"I'm only a year and a half older than you," she protested, rolling her eyes. "The way you were speaking then, you'd think I was ancient."
"Only compared to Eponine," he teased, Eponine being the official "baby" of the group.
"Oh shush. Now come on, I believe you're driving me home for the party."
"To our home," he corrected, smiling. "That sure does sound good."
He knew it wasn't good the second he entered their flat and saw her sat at the kitchen table, papers out in front of her.
"Why is it," he started, hanging his coat up before heading over to join her, "that bad news always seems to be given in the kitchen?"
"I don't know," she replied softly, not meeting his eyes.
"Okay, so shoot. Fire away. Hit me with it. What's happened?" Combeferre simply sounded resigned as he waited for the news.
"I got a job offer."
"Well that isn't so bad," he commented, sitting opposite and taking her hands in his. "What's the job?"
"Chief Statistical Marine Biologist. It's my perfect job really, I can't believe I got an offer so young.
"So what's the snag?" Combeferre asked quietly, part of him already knowing the answer.
"It's not exactly nearby. I'd have to move. I mean, I know we only just got this place, but this job is perfect."
"Where?" Combeferre interrupted. "Where is the job?"
"Australia."
Combeferre found himself at a loss for words and so instead just stared at his girlfriend.
"For how long?" he asked finally, voice dull and quiet.
"Pretty much permanently. The most we can manage is a few weeks holiday at a time back here."
"A few weeks?!"
"I'm not asking you to wait," she reassured him quickly. "Or try and keep this going long distance, because A, that never works, and B, we'd only see each other for about eighteen days a year."
"So this is it," Combeferre said sadly, resting his hand on top of Heather's. "The end."
"No! Come with me," she pleaded. "Move out there with me! We've already moved in together here, it's not that much of a bigger step."
"It kind of is!" Combeferre protested.
"Please," she interupted. "I love you baby, I really do."
"I love you too," he sighed. "And I don't want to lose you, but I can't move to Australia. I just can't," he continued, holding up one hand to silence her as she opened her mouth to interrupt. "Because this is my home. Not just this town, but this country. I still love England that bit to much to leave her yet."
"So this is it," Heather said, fighting back her tears. "Love doesn't get the happy ending after all. If I accept the job that is."
"Accept the job. I insist." Once again, Combeferre refused to listen to all her arguments. "Accept the damn job Heather! It's perfect for you. If you end up back here, maybe look me up, come say hi."
"Always," she promised, leaning over to kiss him.
Tears were shed on both sides when the day came for her to leave.
"I still love you," she told him with a sigh, stopping kissing Combeferre long enough to rest her forehead against his. "If I thought I'd get an opportunity like this again then I wouldn't go, but I don't."
"Well it's too late for you to back out now," he murmured, sneaking in one last kiss before laughing quietly. "Will you look at the pair of us. Both crying like there's no tomorrow. Hopeless, the both of us."
"Don't cry because it is over," Heather whispered, and Combeferre gave a small smile as he finished the quote off.
"Smile because it happened."
"I love you," she repeated, tracing his face with her fingertips one last time.
"Go have fun," he told her, stepping back.
"Don't forget me?" Heather asked as her new supervisor called her over and she started to walk away towards him as slowly as she could, constantly looking over her shoulder back at Combeferre as she went.
"Never!" he called after her with a wave.
Combeferre stayed at the edge of the small runway until the plane had taken off and was out of sight, only then turning and trudging back towards his car.
"Well fuck," he mumbled to himself.