A/N- I am very in love with this story. Especially now I figured out how it's going to end. For the record, there will be two endings: the really sucky, sad one that I would make the "real" ending if I had real writer's balls (and for my own stories, I do... but when I write fanfic, it's because I want a happy ending, dammit!), and the happy-but-majorly-bittersweet ending that's going to be the official ending. I'll post both once I get that far, and you can choose which one you prefer to think of as how this story ended. Both are surprisingly meaningful, as far as that goes, for wrapping up a plot that's basically crack-in-a-jar.

Chapter 2
November 14th, 1830

The back room of the Musain was mostly empty. It was not an occasion for one of the Amis regular meetings. However, a few of the chiefs of the Amis had gathered anyway; namely Enjolras, Combeferre, Bahorel and Joly.

Bahorel was talking. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with wiry brown hair, badly dressed, and Enjolras had to confess that when he had first met the man a year previously, he had not liked him very much. He had thought him lazy and impetuous. Time and exposure, however, had taught him that there was much more behind those laughing brown eyes than he had ever expected. He had a warm openness about him that seemed to embrace everyone within his circle, and Enjolras found that he couldn't help but enjoy spending his time in the other man's company.

"I'm sorry," Bahorel was saying. "I did my best, but the polytechnical students I've been speaking to are going to take rather more convincing before they come around to our way of thinking."

"So we've made no progress at all in that quarter?" Combeferre asked.

Bahorel shrugged. "They are agreeably disposed toward us, but content for present to leave it at that."

"Dammit," Enjolras growled. He had hoped so much to gain the cooperation of the polytechnicals, for they were an invaluable resource among the many flavors of students that inhabited the academic underworld of Paris. It was doubtful that their movement could gain a sufficient following- among students, at least- without their support! He slammed his fist down on the table in front of him in exasperation and rose to his feet abruptly, pacing a tight little line along the length of the table they were gathered around.

"Dammit!" he repeated. "Do they not understand? Do they not know that to be content to give up their rights as a citizen, their right to liberty, is to carelessly surrender their value as men? How do they not see?"

His agitated reaction was stronger than the situation called for, even in a man given to passionate response with regards to his cause. Even he was aware that he was reacting too strongly, and was therefore not altogether surprised when Joly spoke up.

"Enjolras, you have seemed rather choleric lately," the young medical student said, scrutinizing him closely. "Irritability, I understand, is often the result of parasites in the intestine. Are you sure you-"

"I'm fine, Joly," Enjolras snapped. "It's... I'm perfectly fine."

Joly raised his eyebrows, but seemed willing to let the subject drop. Enjolras did, however, take note of the meaningful look he shot at the other two, which Bahorel returned.

"What?" he demanded.

Bahorel shrugged. "You have been very on edge lately, you know."

Enjolras groaned. This was exactly what he had been hoping to avoid with his decision not to tell anyone but Combeferre about his parents' attempt to interfere in his life (again). Combeferre knew him well enough to allow him to handle it in his own way; his other friends would only get more involved than he wanted them to be.

"Can't a man simply have a bad week without his friends assuming something must be drastically wrong? If it was Laigle you wouldn't bat an eye!"

"That," Joly pointed out, "is because when Laigle has a bad week, he responds with good cheer, rather than snapping at everyone around him and overreacting violently to nearly everything."

"I haven't been... have I?" he glanced at the other two.

Bahorel nodded; Combeferre grimaced. "You have been a bit out of sorts," he said quietly.

"I imagine there's something wrong, then?" Joly asked.

Enjolras shook his head firmly. "I'm fine."

"Except for the fact, mon ami, that you are quite plainly troubled," Bahorel spoke up.

"It's nothing I can't manage!" Enjolras replied firmly. "I apologize if I've been unpleasant to be around recently, but it's really nothing of any concern to any of you." He gathered up the pile of books he had brought with him to the cafe. "I think perhaps it would be best if I went home now. We are really not getting much accomplished."

"Who says we need to get anything done to make lingering here worthwhile?" Bahorel protested.

But Enjolras would not be dissuaded. He left the room after a polite but abrupt goodbye. As he strode purposefully down the street, he heard a shout behind him and paused to see Combeferre running to catch up. The shorter man made an amusing sight, having left his hat behind in the cafe.

"Antoine!" he said, upon reaching his side. "I guessed you didn't want to talk about it with the others around- of course you wouldn't- but really, you've been on edge since the letter from your parents. And it has gotten worse since yesterday. Has something else happened?"

Enjolras rubbed a hand across his jaw tiredly. "Yes," he confessed after a moment. "I wrote back to my father immediately, of course. I told him that with two more years of study still ahead of me, it was the worst imaginable time for me to make such a commitment and that I couldn't in good conscience obey this particular wish of his."

"Logical enough, I suppose," Combeferre said musingly.

"I received his reply last week."

"And?"

"He proposed two solutions to that quandary. Under the first, I am to suffer a long engagement until my education is complete, during which time I would, in all likelihood, be forced to court Hyacinthe against my wishes and pretend to be the overjoyed to be engaged to her. Under the second, I am wed in the spring, and have the entirety of June and July to get used to being married before taking up residence in a nice little house in the Marais and returning to school as a "happily" married man with my wife at my side. According to my father, it is- and I quote- "unusual but not unheard of" for a young man to take a wife before he has finished his education."

Combeferre chewed his lip. "Clever. It would appear he's very determined about this."

"Of course he is!" Enjolras spat. "It's his most concerted effort yet to force me into being exactly the sort of son he always wanted! Perhaps if I had a brother, I wouldn't even be in this bind."

"If you had a brother," Combeferre replied, "You would mould him into a perfect replica of yourself, and then your father would be dissatisfied with you both."

This, at last, coaxed a little smile out of Enjolras, the first time he had smiled in weeks. At that moment, he was grateful to have a friend like Combeferre. His oldest and dearest friend, who really was the brother he had never had by blood, always knew just the right thing to say. But before more than a few moments had passed, Enjolras felt the little sting of his predicament prickling at him again.

"I, of course, replied as quickly as possible to my father's letter. Reasoning didn't work, so I tried flat-out refusal."

"I take it that did not help, either."

Enjolras shook his head, a small, dejected motion. "I don't know how I'm going to get out of this, François," he said very quietly.

Combeferre touched his shoulder. "We will find a way," he reassured. "Put aside writing back to your father for a few days, and we will think on it. I am sure we will come up with something."

Enjolras smiled his thanks. Then he looked at Combeferre quizzically and asked, "Have I really been that hard to deal with these past days?"

"Unfortunately. Everyone's noticed."

He winced. "Oh."

"Yes. Do you think perhaps we should just tell them what's happened? I mean, not everyone, but those of us who've been together the longest- Courfeyrac and Laigle and Jehan and the rest?"

Enjolras shook his head. "If I can think of a way to just take care of this quietly, I'd rather no one ever know. Perhaps if I can't find a way to resolve this... situation soon, we might ask someone for advice... Marius, perhaps. He is, I understand, rather experienced in managing overbearing parents."

Combeferre smirked. "Yes, so Courfeyrac says."

"But until we start running out of options, I think I'd prefer to avoid the embarrassment. You know that Grantaire, at least, will never let me forget this if he ever finds out."

"I have no doubt of it," Combeferre replied. After a pause, he asked, "If it were anyone besides Hyacinthe, would you be protesting this strenuously?"

Enjolras looked thoughtful. "Probably not. I object to the entire idea on principle, of course. The fact that my parents have landed on Hyacinthe as my bride-to-be-" He shuddered slightly as the words left his mouth. "-Just happens make the whole situation worse."

"Because she knows all of our embarrassing tales from our boyhood?"

"Because she knows them and it would never even occur to her to use it against me."

Combeferre looked at him strangely. "You, my friend," he said, "are a very odd man."

"So you remind me. Frequently." The two friends shared the kind of look that can only pass between two people who have known each other since very early in life, and who have shared much, if indeed not everything, with the other. It was a look of censure without rebuke, and of that deep understanding of the other which only comes with the very closest of brotherhoods.

Combeferre clapped Enjolras on the shoulder. "Go home, get some sleep, stop worrying for a few hours. We'll find a way to keep you content in your bachelorhood, I'm sure. I'm going to go back to the cafe... I seem to have abandoned my hat!"

"I was wondering how long it would take you to notice that."

Combeferre threw him an ironic look as he turned away. Enjolras watched him go for a moment, then turned and made off in the opposite direction, feeling more certain and more at ease than he had in two weeks.

A/N- I love having the chance to really write the Amis, you know that? It gives me (and I suppose you, as well) a chance to glimpse them outside their noble sacrifice, to remember that these are people as well as symbols, and to bring them to life with that in mind. Unfortunately, I speak hardly any French, so I can't roll out the endless series of French-based puns that Hugo did with regards to the Amis... I'll give it a go, but if it fails, you will never read it.

Reviews, por favor?