Author's Note: Merry Christmas! Yes, I know. I'm really late. *sigh* I'm on it, I promise. You should get at least one more chapter before New Year. Sorry for shortness but this chapter is as long as it should be.

28th December

Number of…

To hell with this.

It started as a very pleasant day. I knew Combeferre had been due to come back the previous evening and as it neared noon I was on my way to his lodgings in a singularly cheerful mood. Fabrice was looking much better and I had managed to convince myself that Jehan's little episode was simply something brought on by his poetic nature and it was probably not worth worrying about. And even if it was, Justinien was here now and he knew how to worry about friends better than I did.

In such a positive state of mind I arrived at the place where our dear doctor-to-be rented a miniature room on the first floor of a boarding house. His window looked upon a small backyard with a low fence around it. Passing the fence and glancing at the window on my way to the main entrance, I paused. I was seized by the urge to do something to acknowledge my own good spirits. I had had a bit of a taxing Christmas after all, I could allow myself the liberty of being silly for a moment, couldn't I?

Combeferre and I have this little joke of sorts. It began when we were first assembling Les Amis. A lot of emphasis was placed on the need for secrecy and how that may be achieved. Combeferre said something funny about codenames and passwords and, as we were excited and in good humor at the time, we somehow ended up acting an overblown mockery of a secret organization. We have since acquired the habit of sometimes getting in character when we are alone and feeling particularly at ease. I would probably blush as bad as Jehan if someone apart from my second-in-command saw me doing this but Combeferre normally projects such a serious, pillar-of-society image himself that I always think that if he can make a fool of himself this way, I am allowed too, as long as none of our brave comrades finds out.

I threw a glance around to make sure no one was observing and jumped over the fence. I whistled twice, once long and once short, and waited.

The first floor window opened almost immediately to reveal one Justinien Combeferre who was trying hard not grin as he frowned suspiciously at me.

"Who disturbs this very royalist and law-abiding home?" he hissed in stage-whisper.

"The dog who will catch the fat duck before it flies away!" I called back in what was, hopefully, a very conspiracy-appropriate tone of voice.

"And how will the hunters pay you for your service?"

"With bones and raw meat."

"Come in and have some then."

"So I shall!"

Feeling like an idiot and not caring, to Justinien's amusement, I climbed in directly through the window.

Once inside, I took one of the two chairs that had barely been fitted into the room between the bed and the large desk.

That desk was a curious thing. It comprised a sea of medical papers pooling around many and various islands of Justinien's other interests. Some islands were made of poetry, some were made of philosophy or art and some consisted of interesting pebbles dotting the surface.

Speaking of art, here was another person that could have probably taken Feuilly's place. My eyes flew over the scattered sketches. A moth. I human skeleton. A flower. Is everyone accomplished at drawing but me? Although, of course, I have yet to see if Grantaire can really draw or paint. I can't even begin to imagine what he could have been like in college. Natural sciences. Who would have thought? It was Justinien's area, among other things. It somehow seemed unfair for Grantaire to trespass on it.

"Adrian?" someone called. "Wandered into the beautiful future again?"

I turned, startled, only to be faced with my friend's fond and slightly teasing smile. He was standing at the door with two cups of tea. I smiled back.

"Not quite. I was admiring your sketches."

He brushed some medical journals away and sat the cups on the cleared space on the desk.

"Since when is your mind occupied with such mundane things as sketches? Come now, rather tell me how your Christmas went. I hope you didn't spend it all reading about Robespierre."

"Not at all. And, indeed, I have quite a story to tell. In a moment. First, how was yours?"

"Oh… Very pleasant but not eventful. I did a lot of thinking." For some reason the way he said that bothered me but I brushed it away. He settled on the chair opposite me, leaned with one elbow on the desk and made an encouraging gesture. "We can talk about my boring contemplations later. I am far more interested in your story."

I gave him a brief account of everything that had happened since he had left. I am not as prone to decorating stories with flowery detail as Courfeyrac but Combeferre would hardly expect me to, and he seemed interested enough in the facts. When I was done he shook his head.

"I should have insisted on examining Feuilly. I will go see him this very afternoon to try and make up for it."

"You offered to look at him. It wasn't your fault the silly man refused."

"True. But I would very much like to see him all the same."

"And so you shall. But not before you tell me what you were thinking about so much."

He was silent for a moment, drinking his tea and briefly glancing up at me the way a man might glance at the sky outside to determine if he should take an umbrella. It made me uneasy. Justinien is very rarely mindful of what he says to me. We are close enough, or at least I thought us so, to take no offence in each other's opinions.

"Enjolras…" he said finally, "I think I need a rest."

Suddenly there was a tiny knot in my stomach.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to sound neutral.

"Les Amis… The revolution… We saw a lot of people die this summer. Good people. Some of them good friends."

"They died for the good of their country."

"Maybe. But they still died when they could have lived. They could have grown and learned and become instruments of human progress and civilization."

"They did become instruments of progress, Combeferre!"

He gave me that dreadfully calm, slightly sad look of his.

"Have we really progressed?"

And I couldn't say anything. I know this is not our tomorrow. The real one is still somewhere out there. I am myself enraged by the lack of positive change but for me this only serves to fuel the fire. But Justinien is not a creature prone to rage. To him, this situation means a different thing. I value human life greatly but it has never been as precious to me as principles and ideas for what is life without them? Combeferre though… For him, a man without a cause is just as important as the first among our nation's great leaders. And so he now wants to put his humanism above his patriotism. If it was anyone else, I would have argued. I would have given all the reasons why a revolution was necessary, pointed out that the people needed us… But I couldn't. Not to him. He knew all these things and he had decided it wasn't reason enough. What could I do?

"You don't believe anymore?" I asked quietly.

He looked back at me calmly, honestly, brown eyes full of gentleness and sadness and apology.

"I don't know. I need time to find out."

"Will you still come to the meetings?"

"What purpose would it serve? You need enthusiasts, minds full of fire and lacking in doubt. What good would a man do who is trying to sort his own beliefs?"

"You don't know if you will be back."

"If I'm back, I want to be sure, Adrien. This is not something that can be done without full devotion."

My motivation to question his decision was gone. It had barely been there to start with. I nodded and drank my tea and accepted the fact that I had lost him.

Merde.