Author's Note: I'm here, I'm here! It's just extra work and exams and the flu and not enough hours in the day... Those of you who haven't done it yet can check out the silly poll on my profile page and I'm currently uploading crappy images of my amis on deviantart. I have a joined profile with a friend there and our name is imwithyanaandimbored (I know, I know, but it is what it is). After you're done rolling your eyes at me failing as an artist, go and wash your brains with technicolor-werewolf's much better artwork.

24th December, a little past noon

Hours of sleep – 0 but hopefully subject to change

Plans to help Feuilly keep his job put into action – 1

Annoying drunkards – 0

Increase in love and admiration for Courfeyrac - considerable

Just as predicted, I spent the whole night awake. I was trying to figure out if there had been a better choice than trusting Grantaire with a mission. Although, to be fair, I had actually trusted Courfeyrac with not trusting Grantaire with a mission. That, I suppose was slightly better. Still, my mind was split at least three ways that night – enough to keep me awake.

First (and I feel horrible admitting this but one has to be honest), a tiny and apparently very childish part of me actually wanted Grantaire to fail. That would be bad, of course, but I would be proven right. I wanted to wave his failure in the faces of everyone who didn't consider his shortcomings serious enough and just rolled their eyes at his antics while I tried to explain that the rotting of the human soul should not be taken so lightly.

A second part of me hated the idea of him not succeeding but knew for a fact that something would go wrong, simply based on common sense and experience.

And then the third part… an inexplicably stubborn one… and probably the same one that wanted most of all to defy everything bad Grantaire had ever said about trust and faith and humans… that little part wanted to believe this would work.

And I almost believed it, until about ten in the morning.

Workers had started working long ago at that point and I wondered if Grantaire currently counted among them. I was about to go insane not knowing what was going on. I didn't want to go to Feuilly's workplace because it would look as if I did not trust Antoine to do as he had promised and take care of things. I knew he would let me know what was going on as soon as possible. I also didn't want to go see the others without any news because pacing neurotically up and down in front of them would not be terribly authoritative. In fact, I was making a conscious effort not to do it in front of myself either.

Then a folded sheet of paper was slipped under my door, presumably by the landlady. It was written in Courfeyrac's writing and it said:

Slight change of plans but don't worry. I'm taking care of things. Tell Feuilly not to fret.

A.D.C.

Translated from Courfeyracian this meant that Grantaire had either not showed up at all or made a mess of things and Antoine was now trying to fix it. Brilliant.

My anger from the previous night, which had been silenced by the irrational hope that maybe I was wrong and the winesack would really be much more adequate once he had sobered, flared up again. It was hopeless, hopeless, hopeless! How do you deal with someone who is that untrustworthy and useless? And this wasn't even about the Republic or the Cause or anything like that. It was our friend, our friend Feuilly who needed help! Jehan had been wrong. Grantaire didn't love us. Grantaire didn't love anything because he was simply too busy mocking the world.

Now, as much as I had faith in Courfeyrac, I had to find out what exactly he was doing. I had to know this would come out right in the end. I could not face the idea of telling Fabrice we had failed him. If we couldn't secure the job of one worker, what were we good for at all?

I was almost tempted to put on the first thing I could get my hands on and rush out the door at a sprint but, of course, that would be both inappropriate and useless. Whatever was happening was happening and there was little chance that I would be able to change it. I managed to get dressed quite calmly and make myself presentable. I left the house in about half an hour.

The fan-making atelier turned out to be quite small, situated on the second floor of an old building not too far from where Fabrice lived. The first floor housed a slightly shabby dress emporium. Even from afar one could see that the upper windows were decorated with (what else?) colourful fans and I caught myself wondering whether my friend had had a hand in the creation of some of them. I hadn't actually seen any of Fabrice's creations and that suddenly struck me as odd.

When I climbed the stairs and reached the atelier, I was greeted by a rather curious sight. I stopped at the entrance. I did not want to spy but I was reluctant to interrupt the scene. There was Courfeyrac, surrounded by a group of giggling girls, most of whom were clearly society ladies. Two were more humbly dressed, though, and they looked like they might actually be working there. Our very own Don Juan seemed to have them quite hypnotized. He was talking animatedly to a middle-aged man with large moustache whom I presumed to be Fabrice's boss. Three other workers were standing a bit to the side, their expressions ranging from amused to skeptical, to mildly irritated.

"… could not refuse the lovely ladies!" Antoine was saying in his flamboyant, merry tenor when I arrived. "So we had our little bet and I promised I would be a workman for at least a week or two. But the question was, what work would I get? You would understand how finding the right thing was quite vexing. Then I learned that you were one man short in here and I simply had to offer my services. I am not completely unqualified. As some of these ladies will testify, I have drawn some quite acceptable sketches of them. Naturally, as a mere student of your craft, I will not require payment. I will be content to simply experience the joy of fan-making. What could be more wonderful than creating beautiful things to decorate the beautiful girls who, in turn, will decorate Paris' beautiful ballrooms?"

The three workers exchanged glances that said quite clearly that they could think of a few things that would be 'more wonderful'. The boss shook his head.

"This may be a game for you, monsieur, but it is a living for us. I do not hire unqualified workers. My business would go down!"

"Oh, but it will be good for your business," one of the girls piped in. Or, possibly, she could be called a woman. She looked no older than the others but she had the air of a woman and she didn't giggle quite as much. "Because, you see, we will be willing to buy every single fan M. Courfeyrac makes, no matter how outrageously ugly it is. We will keep them so we could laugh at them and at him for failing miserably at being a craftsman and losing the bet. Isn't that right, girls?"

There was general laughter and mutters of agreement.

"Camille, mon cherie, how wicked you are!" Antoine exclaimed in mock-indignation. "But you get away with it because you are so beautiful."

He blew her a kiss, she rolled her eyes in a rehearsed manner that was designed to look pretty and I almost slapped my forehead at the theatricality of it all.

The boss still looked doubtful until one of the workers, the youngest, who looked about our age, stepped in.

"Mongeau, it is almost Christmas. We might not find any replacement fast enough to fulfill all orders. If we take him and they buy the fans, we would at least not lose much business and, since he will only be working for a couple of weeks, we would be able to take Feuilly back once he's recovered. Feuilly is good. It would be a pity to lose him. In addition, I'm sure M. Courfeyrac could be of some assistance and if he does not require payment, you might actually make profit. And I'm sure fine ladies like these wouldn't go back on their word to buy his stuff."

He smiled at the assembled girls who, predictably, giggled.

"Ah, there you have it!" Courfeyrac exclaimed with a blinding flash of a smile. "This way everyone is happy."

The two grisettes looked like they were the happiest for getting a chance to spend lengthy amounts of time in the same room as Antoine. I held my breath, waiting for the boss' final word on the matter. He chewed on his moustache a bit before jerking his head decisively.

"Fine then, monsieur. You can have your try. But I am warning you, if you want to be a worker, I will treat you as a worker. And I expect no trouble."

He shot a look at his two female employees. Courfeyrac's grin was innocence itself as he shook the man's hand. He suddenly noticed me out of the corner of his eye, grinned even wider and winked as if to say 'see? I told you I had it covered!' I smiled back and tried my best to look suitably ashamed at ever doubting him. I nodded towards the staircase, indicating that I would wait to speak to him outside.

"I won't be a moment, boss. I will just see the ladies out," I heard him call as I descended.

Seeing the ladies out took a little more than a moment.

"Pascaline, Camille, Juliette, Ophelie…"

Courfeyrac kissed a number of hands and delivered a much greater number of thanks and compliments before they were all gone. How had he gathered a bunch of women here so early in the morning and convinced them to promise to buy fans that, let's face it, would probably look awful?

Once he was done with all farewell pleasantries, he returned to me.

"Ah, Enjolras, you old neurotic! I told you you had nothing to worry about, didn't I?"

"I am not normally a neurotic and you know that very well," I countered. "I only become one when certain people are involved. And, obviously, I don't mean you."

And there it was again – the roll of the eyes, the shake of the head… Grantaire's unreliability brushed off as something common that everyone should simply get used to.

"He probably just slept in, you know," Antoine said, as if that was any excuse. "He seemed ready enough to do it when I talked to him last night. He was concerned for Feuilly, I could see that."

"His concern is completely worthless if he does nothing to help."

I put some effort into making the full stop at the end of that sentence sound truly final. I had no desire to latch into another Grantaire debate. Courfeyrac shrugged.

"I have to go back up. There's my career as a fan-maker waiting for me. Ah, you don't object to all of us putting in a little money to support Feuilly in the meantime, do you? I could not have asked for payment – I don't know the first thing about fans, except that I'm usually curious to see what is hidden behind them."

"Of course I don't object! He will object, but he would have objected to someone getting paid and giving him the money just as much. He will have to put up with it. I'll go and tell him that things have been settled now."

"Splendid. And I will be going to get better acquainted with my co-workers."

I nodded and grasped his hand for goodbye.

"Courfeyrac… Thank you. On behalf of Fabrice and on my own behalf. I don't know anyone else who could have pulled off what you just did and I know precious few people who would have even been willing to try."

"Ah, nonsense! It's only a bit of adventure!"

He tipped his hat at me one last time and went back inside. I, in turn, went to Feuilly's to find Jehan already there and both of them waiting for news. Fortunately, I had some good ones to give. Thank God for Courfeyrac.

I left with the insistence that Christmas Eve dinner was on me and the intention of getting at least a few hours of sleep before seeing them again.

And this is exactly what I intend to do now.