"Bossuet?"
"No, Joly, your tongue looks the same as it did yesterday."
"You didn't even look!"
"I stopped looking years ago."
"But what if I'm actually dying this time? I hope you're prepared to explain to everyone why my tombstone says 'I told you so'!"
"Anyone who knew you will understand." Rather nonchalantly, Bossuet flipped the page of his book and continued reading while Joly smiled and flipped him off.
They were in the univeristy library and while Bossuet was reading up on a case, Joly was trying to do his med homework but Bossuet saw the phone under the table, perpetually opening and reopening to diagnosispro . com. From their table, they had the perfect view of the entire library. They were located at the center, where all the aisles began and rejoined again, with a direct view of the front door. It was ideal in everyway.
"Guys! GUYS!" Jehan bounded up the aisle to their immediate right, causing Bossuet to drop his book and Joly to drop his phone under the table. "Guess who I saw in the poetry section!"
His voice had dropped down to a dramatic whisper. Joly had ducked under the table to retrieve his phone.
"Lord Byron?" Bossuet asked, feigning excitement. Jehan's face fell.
"Do you really think I'd be here talking to you people if Lord Byron was within ten feet of my person?"
"Fair point, go on."
Jehan's excitement returned to him as he grinned and exclaimed, "Enjolras in the flesh!"
"No!" Bossuet gasped but beamed all the same. At the same time, they heard the muffled sound of Joly hitting his head on the bottom of the table. Coming out from under the table and sitting down again, Joly asked with incredulity:
"What?!"
"Has it been done?" Bossuet asked. "Has someone finally written an epic poem about Robespierre?"
"No. Wordsworth did have a notable fascination with the French Revolution but that's beside the point." Jehan dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand and pulled up a chair beside his friends. "So, I was just browsing to see if anything new had been added to the poetry section. Absolutely nothing if you wanted to know."
He said it sharply, as if he were personally offended, which he probably was. "And I saw him holding a book of Shakespeare sonnets so close to his face you would think he was trying to inhale the words off the page."
"He does like to be well read," Joly offered.
"Yes, but in love poetry?" Jehan sounded skeptical. "Believe me, I have tried and failed him in that area time and time again."
"You don't suppose he's finally decided to cultivate his heart, do you?" Bossuet smirked with firm disbelief.
"Perhaps some has already begun cultivating it for him," Jehan suggested. His voice had grown soft and was marked by a reverential tone, which was wont to occur when he spoke of matters of the heart.
"Wait, Prouvaire, before we break the bad news to Patria, which sonnet was he reading?" Joly raised an eyebrow inquisitively. Jehan pursed his lips.
"I couldn't tell. A piece of paper fell out of the book and as he leaned down to pick it up, I, well..." Jehan blushed. "I was afraid he would see me and think I was spying. After what happened between him and Combeferre this morning, I really don't think getting on his bad side is such a good idea."
"Good call," said Bossuet.
"Too bad," Joly countered. "If we had known which sonnet he was reading and where that piece of paper was placed, we might've had a better understanding of what the hell is going on here."
Then, out of the blue, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare landed in front of Joly as if from above.
"Sonnet Twenty," Enjolras stated bluntly and walked out the front door. It slammed hard. After a few moments of sitting in stunned silence, Bossuet wondered aloud:
"Well, that answers one question. The next one is, which country do we flee to?"
"Oh, Japan! Highest average elderly age and lowest cases of heart disease." Joly perked up. Jehan rolled his eyes fondly and opened the book to Sonnet Twenty. Immediately, a small, square piece of folded paper fell out from between the pages. Jehan snatched it up before the other two could make a grab for it and then, returned his attention to the sonnet at hand.
"Yes, I remember this one well." He ran his slender fingers delicately over the words as if he were caressing them and recited without the slightest hesitation or thought, "A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; a woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
with shifting change, as is false women's fashion-"
"Yes, yes, beautiful, we can appreciate the Bard later. Now, what does that piece of paper say?" Bossuet insisted impatiently. Jehan, looking only mildly disgruntled as he was just as curious, placed the book down, open on the table. He unfolded the paper, read its contents to himself, sighed in obvious disappointment and passed it on to Joly and Bossuet who read it together.
There were two different people's penmanship on the paper. The first had written, "RV?" The second had written, "TBD, TARFU".
"Excellent. It's in code," said Bossuet. Joly snatched up his phone.
"I'm on it!" Sure enough, within a minute or so, Joly had brought up a list of common government and military acronyms as a place to start, if anything.
"Ok, so apparently 'RV?' means 'Rendezvous?' and we all know 'TBD' means 'To be determined' but let's see, 'TARFU'...hmmm..." Joly's eyes squinted as he continued his search. "Ahah! I've got it. It can mean either 'Things Are Really Fucked Up' or 'Totally and Royally Fucked Up'."
"And we're positive that the second person, the one who wrote 'TBD TARFU', is Enjolras?" Bossuet asked. Jehan nodded solemnly.
"I'm positive. I've been reading his handwritten work for years." Joly, Jehan, and Bossuet stared at each other in a silence similar to the first one, except this one, instead of being preceded by the slamming of a door, was terminated by the opening of one and in walked Grantaire. In his hand, he carried a brown paper bag that just barely concealed an object that looked suspiciously like a bottle. Seeing three of his good friends directly ahead of him, he swaggered right up to their table to greet them. Before he could see, Jehan stealthily slipped the piece of paper into his pant's pocket.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen! What brings you all here? Nothing of the academic persuasion, I hope." Jehan, Bossuet, and Joly all looked at each other, trying to figure out their cover story by telepathy. Before any of them could reply, Grantaire spotted the book of sonnets and snagged it out of Jehan's reach, flipping through all the pages and eventually stopping at the front cover. "I'd've thought you'd have all of these memorized by now, Prouvaire."
"I was just brushing up." Jehan was blushing.
"Well, if you wouldn't mind, I think I'd like to try my hand at the verses of the over-glorified Bard myself." Jehan made a gesture with his hands that told Grantaire he could go right ahead. "My deepest thanks, dear Prouvaire. I suppose I'll see you all later, listening and making sacrifices to the talking statue?"
"Don't be surprised if the green fairy's there too," Bossuet added. Grantaire feigned offense.
"Why would I be surprised?" A devilish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'm the one who invited her."
They all shared a laugh and on that note, Grantaire walked off the book and Joly, practically giving himself whiplash, said to Jehan, "Quick, Sonnet Twenty, recite it."
And Jehan did so perfectly:
"A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling,
Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure."
"And you still have the paper?" Joly asked.
"Yes..." Jehan's voice trembled. Joly and Bossuet exchanged glances.
"We're fucked."
"Run!"
A/N: As usual, please tell me what you think!