A/N: Sorry for the late update, guys! Vacation got me all distracted.
In other news, my community youth theatre is holding auditions for Les Miserables next week. I can't even begin do describe how happy that makes me, but if I get in, it will more than likely mean that my update rate will go down even more.
Whatever. Enjoy!
That night, Luca stayed up late into the night, staring into the fire with a pen in her hand.
"You'd better go to bed," Alexandre had told her, but she didn't seem to hear him.
She didn't stir for hours, until finally, inspiration seemed to strike. She scribbled madly on the page for a moment, but then she crumpled it up and threw it in the fire. A fresh sheet was found and placed before the flames. Again, she lost herself in some writing, and again, she threw it into the fire. This must've continued until three or four in the morning, because Alexandre found her there the next morning, fast asleep with ink all over her cheek.
"Luca," he whispered in her ear. The girl jerked awake, punching Alexandre in the face in panic.
Alexandre cried out in surprise. "Good God, Lucille, what's wrong with you? Do you sleep with a clenched fist?"
"I'd be sorry," she said, "but I think you addressing me with such an abominable name makes us even."
"Your given name isn't an abomination. Be proud of it."
"That's easy for you to say; you have a normal name."
"You have a normal name."
"Don't you have a job to get to?" Luca demanded.
"Seriously, you're acting strange," Alexandre said. "Come on; let's sit you on the couch."
Luca let him pick her up and set her down amongst the pillows.
"Now," he began, crouching in front of her, "what's wrong?"
"Weird dreams," she muttered. "Don't worry about it."
"What kind of dreams?"
Luca stayed silent.
"It's Prouvaire, isn't it? That's who you were writing about. That's why the dreams were weird."
She smiled weakly.
"You've liked worse people. He puts up with you."
"I don't even write poetry, Alexandre."
"Sometimes, the people we meet who are the most different from us change us in the best ways."
"That doesn't mean I have to write poetry about them," she grumbled.
"You're right. You're just crazy." Alexandre laughed and stood up. "I have to go to work," he said, kissing her forehead.
"Love you," Luca called after him.
"Love you too."
Alexandre was almost out the door when he poked his head back in.
"I think we'll all be back late tonight," he said. "Can you take care of yourself?"
Luca narrowed her eyes and scowled. "Of course. Colette is coming over after lessons. I'll cook dinner for the two of us."
"Good girl! Love you!" Alexandre said, squirming under her glare.
"Get out."
Alexandre rolled his eyes and left as quickly as he could.
After a long day at work, Alexandre entered the Café Musain to the sounds of Joly and Bahorel playing at dominoes. Smiling, he left his coat at the door and began to make his way over there. A pair of warm hands on his shoulders stopped him.
"Hello Alexandre, my friend," Courfeyrac cooed in his ear.
"Cut it out, Courfeyrac," Feuilly snapped playfully. "No one would ever believe that you liked men."
"It's always worth a shot," the tall student said.
"Just make sure you don't frighten poor Prouvaire away," Combeferre commented from nearby. "Even Enjolras really likes him."
"Seriously?" Alexandre exclaimed. "Enjolras likes someone that isn't you?"
"Oh, shut up, Feuilly. Marcelin likes plenty of people."
"He calls him Marcelin?" Courfeyrac whispered in Feuilly's ear. "Now there's someone interested in men."
"I can hear you, Courfeyrac," Combeferre said calmly, "and I'd appreciate it if you kept your fantasies to yourself."
"They're not fantasies…" Courfeyrac muttered.
Feuilly noticed Enjolras' glow in the doorway then. "Sorry I'm late; Blondeau kept me back after class."
"Again?" Bossuet called from the back.
"Again," Enjolras confirmed. "Courfeyrac, stop snickering."
"The funny thing is," Courfeyrac said in another loud whisper, "I'm not snickering about that."
"I know you're not," Enjolras said.
"Courfeyrac," Combeferre began, "you really are the worst whisperer I've ever met."
"Maybe I do it on purpose."
"But you don't," someone crowed, causing the room to fill with laughter.
Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Are we going to get started or not? Where's Prouvaire?"
"Here I am!" Prouvaire rushed into the back room just as Enjolras said his name.
"You're late," Enjolras said coldly. "If this has to do with a woman, I swear…"
"Go easy on him, Enjolras," Combeferre instructed gently, appearing at his friend's side. "He's here, isn't he?"
"I suppose. All right, Prouvaire, come on in."
"He can be such a hypocrite sometimes," Courfeyrac muttered.
"Can it," Feuilly retorted. "He's just anxious. That stupid inspector has been tailing him for weeks; it was probably him that held him back at Blondeau's."
Jehan came over to join the pair. "What have I missed?"
"Nothing," Courfeyrac grumbled.
"Enjolras just got here," Feuilly explained. "Courfeyrac thinks he's a hypocrite."
Jehan, who was already enamored with their charismatic leader, looked taken aback. "You're a hypocrite!" he shot childishly.
"Shut up, Jehan," Courfeyrac said. "The meeting's starting."
"It must feel good to be telling someone else to shut up instead of the other way around," Feuilly muttered. Courfeyrac whacked him over the head.
"Bahorel," Enjolras was saying, "status report! How are our friends at the Barrière du Maine?"
"Not so hot," Bahorel told the group. "Dufort doesn't like us very much."
"Bunch of cowards!" one of the men cried out.
"That's no way to approach the situation," Combeferre chided. "Enjolras, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to send the boxer to make peaceful negotiations."
Bahorel looked mildly offended, but only Courfeyrac ever had the gall to snap back at the tranquil and stern philosopher during a meeting.
"Valid point," Enjolras said. "Sorry, Bahorel, but that's where our standing is the most delicate. Who do you think we should send, Combeferre?"
"I'll go," Jehan offered boldly. "I haven't proven myself yet."
"You don't have to prove yourself, Prouvaire," Combeferre said gently.
"If he's really so set on it…" Enjolras mentioned.
"Are you set on this?" asked the guide.
"I…yes. I'll do it."
"Brilliant," Enjolras said, flashing a rare smile. "Why don't you join Combeferre and me after the meeting for a briefing?"
"I'll do that too," Jehan said, and even he knew that there wasn't any good reason to blush just then.
The men chuckled at his shyness, causing him to duck his head.
"Okay, then, since that's settled, let's move on. Bossuet, in—how did you manage it again, Lesgle?"
"I fell out of a second-story window," the bald man chimed in. Several men winced or hissed in sympathetic pain at this.
"Right, well, Bossuet, in falling out of a second-story window, ran into the daughter of none other than our friend Lafayette. Since his luck isn't totally horrible all of the time, he convinced her to take him home—," wolf-whistles interrupted him here, "—so that he could rest comfortably while she sent for a doctor. Bossuet, tell the rest of the story, why don't you?"
"Right," said Bossuet with a cheerful laugh. "There I was, in the arms of the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, with blue eyes and golden curls swept back into a river that flowed down her back, and—."
"Bossuet," Combeferre interrupted gently, "I believe Enjolras wanted to hear about your meeting with Lafayette."
"Oh, yes," Bossuet said, laughing again. "Well, the man was just as magnanimous and friendly as any of us could have expected, and while I was alone with him in the parlor, I dared to bring up our noble cause.
"He was reluctant to discuss his political opinions at first, but soon he came to trust this unfortunate soul of mine. To be short, he says he will stand behind Enjolras completely if it comes to insurrection."
This brought about a round of cheers, and Enjolras was grinning ear to ear. Jehan had to blink a couple of times when he looked over at him—the man's face was as bright as the face of one of Michelangelo's angels.
The meeting continued in the same fashion for an hour or so, and after it was finished, Combeferre and Enjolras cornered him.
"Are you sure you're up to it, my friend?" Combeferre asked. "You're still so new to all of this."
"I can send Combeferre or Joly there in your place if you do not wish to go," Enjolras assured him.
"I will go," Jehan said with a sudden finality. "Tell me what to do."
Enjolras appraised him with esteem.
"I like you, Prouvaire, so I'm going to trust you with this. You just need to go down there and talk to the stone-cutters and painters. They don't like us, so be sensitive."
Prouvaire nodded earnestly, wondering if he could remember everything.
"Try and convince them that we're trying to help them," Combeferre added.
"Certainly," Enjolras agreed. "Don't let them scare you, Prouvaire."
"Got it. Should I tell them about our ideals? Mention what Enjolras said in his speech tonight?" Jehan asked frantically.
"Whatever you think needs to be said," Combeferre said. "You'll be fine."
Jehan left smiling, unaware that he was entangling himself in something fatal.
R&R? It makes my life happy!