Combeferre was content with his position as guide to Les Amis, standing at Enjolras' side but not actually calling the shots. Since Enjolras had been abroad, he'd been filling the void, but it had been mostly rallies and food drives and such. Nothing major. Nothing he couldn't consult Enjolras about if needed. But, this, this would have been a crisis had everyone been home in Paris. Across two continents, it had the potential to be overwhelming. So the only logical decision was to accept Courfeyrac's offer and bring the Amis to New York. Enjolras and Grantaire needed their brothers, all of them. Joly needed Bossuet and Musichetta – who was of course coming, as soon as she heard. Marius had Cosette with him, but Combeferre knew Marius was even less accustomed to taking the lead than he was. And it wouldn't do to stress him out.

Some of the flight times had been cutting it close. Combeferre had smiled with amusement upon hearing a final boarding call for the flight Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Bahorel were on and seeing Jehan and Courfeyrac tearing through the terminal, flower petals falling from Jehan's hair and marking the path of their departure. Combeferre had been fortunate enough to secure a spot on a later flight; as much as he wanted to be in New York instantly, he hated being rushed. It also gave him time to check in with Enjolras. Who was, predictably, a wreck.

Enjolras and Combeferre had been friends since childhood; they had been brothers of the heart long before finding the rest of the group. They were both the sons of wealthy diplomats, but their fathers had both seen the poorest living conditions the world had to offer. They taught their children to care for those less fortunate. Enjolras' father had been killed in an attack on the French embassy in Argentina when the boys were eight. They'd been close before, but that cemented their bond, as Enjolras struggled to cope with the loss of his beloved father. His new role as the man of the house, taking care of his mother, who had lost the love of her life. And when his mother had been depressed and distant, he'd sought shelter at Combeferre's house, where there was always someone to offer a warm hug. Joan Combeferre was a matriarch among matriarchs, and she raised all six of her children to be as warm but grounded as she was.

Growing up too soon had taken its toll on Enjolras, in ways he didn't even realize. He was never comfortable when he wasn't in control. He took on responsibilities that weren't his. He was a passionate man, a good man, but the emotions of others often alluded him and he never quite knew how to handle his own. That's what I have you for, he'd told Combeferre once, teasingly, but Combeferre had seen the deeper truth behind the jest.

It had taken Enjolras a long time to realize exactly how devoted Grantaire was to him. But once he had, once he'd dropped his defenses and taken a chance, he was as passionate as he was about everything else. Suddenly, the man who had no time for the trivialities of romance was madly in love. It didn't hurt that they balanced each other in all the right ways. Grantaire still drank entirely too much, but it was better than it used to be. Combeferre no longer jumped any time his friends from the hospital called, assuming it meant Grantaire had finally drank himself into alcohol poisoning. Enjolras' blind passion, which could turn to dangerous zeal when unchecked, could be reined as Grantaire played devil's advocate. Their relationship had been a long time in coming, but when it did, they clicked together like two pieces of a puzzle. Suddenly, they were whole and they were happy.

Enjolras wouldn't admit how badly he was taking this – though it would have been worrisome if he had, or if he were taking it well. But Combeferre knew him, and he knew the undercurrent of fear in Enjolras' tone as he repeated the trite reassurances given to him by the hospital staff.

Combeferre checked his phone for any new messages. Finding none, he realized it had been a few hours since the last update. He didn't want to wake Enjolras if he'd finally managed to sleep, but Combeferre doubted that. Besides, when Enjolras was exhausted, it would take more than the chirp of a text message to wake him. Combeferre typed with one finger as he glanced at the departure board to make sure his flight was still on time. At the airport. Jehan, Courf, and Bahorel are on their way. Rest of us have flights scheduled throughout the day.

It didn't take Enjolras long to reply. Merci. Is all well there?

Combeferre snorted. Typical Enjolras. Of course. Patria will cope without us for a week; Taire needs us more.

Yes, he does. After a second, another message followed. Ferre, I'm scared.

Combeferre knew what it must have taken for Enjolras to admit that. He cursed the ocean between them. I know. He wasn't going to offer blind platitudes, but he couldn't ignore that fear, either. He's in good hands. Joly will keep a watchful eye on everything; you know that. And he has the love of a good man on his side.

Combeferre could picture Enjolras' hesitation, even if it hadn't been felt in the delayed response. You really think so?

Combeferre never said anything he didn't mean, but he indulged Enjolras, given the circumstances. Absolutely. If he fights for anyone, Gabe, it will be you.

Enjolras was tired, both physically and emotionally, but he couldn't sleep. Every time he drifted off, he snapped awake again as soon as an alarm went off or there was an unexpected noise. He'd become a permanent fixture at Grantaire's side, as apparently visitation in the ICU was allowed around the clock for family members. No one had challenged Enjolras yet, and frankly, he dared them to try. Though he was sure the patience of the staff would be tried when the rest of the family showed up. To be fair, he had warned them it was a rather large extended family.

Combeferre's texts had soothed him as much as an electronic message could. Grantaire was still unconscious, still dependent on the medical technology surrounding him to stay alive, but his hand was warm and his pulse, though quick, was stable. Joly had fussed a bit, but then admitted that an elevated heart rate was to be expected, even if he didn't like it. Everything so far seemed to be within the parameters of "given the circumstances." Enjolras could accept that.

Cosette peeked her head in, smiling shyly. It was the first time she'd come without Marius, so Enjolras understood her hesitance, but he nodded and waved her in. She'd been there all night, after all – even if it was just to support Marius, it was appreciated. "Bonjour, Cosette."

She smiled, a little wryly. "I fail to see what's so good about it."

Enjolras smiled at the literal translation to English. "Non, it really isn't a very good day at all. But, as Combeferre is always telling me, it could always be worse."

"Yes, it could be raining," Cosette agreed.

Enjolras looked at her blankly, having no idea what she was talking about. "Pardon?"

Cosette shook her head. "It's an old American comedy. I'll have to show you sometime. I haven't been able to properly gauge your sense of humor yet, but I think Grantaire would like it."

Enjolras stroked his lover's arm idly, taking what comfort he could from it. "I'm sure he will."

"How's he doing?" Cosette asked, venturing a step closer.

"No change," Enjolras said for what seemed like the thousandth time that day but was probably only the third. "I'm told at this point, that's good."

"I know I don't know you all very well yet," Cosette said, "but I met Grantaire the other day, when we had that snow day. He struck me as a fun sort."

"He strikes most people that way." Enjolras nodded. "He definitely knows how to have a good time."

"But there was more," Cosette continued. "There was a gentle kindness. Nothing he'd dare admit to, I'm sure, but I'm good at reading people. I really was looking forward to getting to know him." Seeming to realize how that sounded, she quickly added, "Merde, not that – I mean, I still am. But…"

"It's all right; I understand." Enjolras, as much as he could be exasperated with Marius' lovesick theatrics, was definitely beginning to appreciate what Marius saw in Cosette. She was soft-spoken but sweet, and she'd managed to see through Grantaire's bluster within the first minutes of meeting him. Not everyone could do that. Granted, it did depend on his mood and how drunk he was. But Enjolras was amazed how many people wrote Grantaire off as shallow. Even when he'd been blind to love, he had known that there was far more beneath the surface when it came to Grantaire. He tended to express himself best creatively, but he was incredibly well-spoken when the situation called for it, if he trusted those around him. And Cosette did inspire trust. "How are Marius and Joly?"

Cosette smiled. "When I last saw Joly, he was talking to his…I don't know, is that his boyfriend?"

"I'm not sure they're sure," Enjolras admitted. Bossuet was Joly's best friend, and they had been in a polyamorous relationship with Musichetta for some time. They loved each other, but whether that love had crossed the line into a true threesome, only they knew yet. It wasn't their friends' business to ask and no information had been volunteered.

"Marius finally fell asleep; that's why I came alone. He needs rest – as do you." Cosette raised her eyebrows at Enjolras challengingly.

"I'm fine." Enjolras shook his head. "He needs me here."

"You can still sleep," Cosette told him, coaxing. "I'll keep watch for a bit."

"I couldn't possibly ask you to…"

"Who's asking?" Cosette shrugged. "I'm volunteering."

Enjolras sighed. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Combeferre had gotten to her already. "All right, but only for a little while. Wake me in twenty minutes."

Cosette merely smiled, nodding. Had Enjolras been better-rested, he would have known better than to trust that smile. He woke up two hours later to find Joly flipping through the medical chart like it was light reading material.

Grantaire was trying to piece together what had happened. He was missing several hours, and that worried him. It had been late at night, and now it was daytime. He had somehow gotten from the alleys near Greenwich Village to Central Park. There had been some altercation, and now…it was just another day.

"Enj?" Grantaire turned toward the blond man who stood beside him. But it was clear he'd been mistaken when the man turned. There were clear similarities, but it wasn't Enjolras. "Oh. Sorry. You're not Enjolras."

The man smiled, chuckling. "Oh, so you claim?"

"Um, yeah, I think I'd recognize my boyfriend when I see him. Or any part of his luscious body." Grantaire crossed his arms. "And you are?"

The man extended a hand diplomatically. "Tristan Enjolras. Bonjour."

"Oh, that's…" Grantaire put the pieces together quickly. Tristan had been Enjolras' father. The father who'd died when he was eight. "Well, this conversation just got simultaneously awkward and creepy."

Tristan's smile widened. "Yes, I suppose it must be strange to have a near-death experience when you don't believe in them."

"I'll say." Grantaire glanced at Tristan warily. "So is this the 'go back, don't go to the light' speech? Because I'm down with that and I'd hate to waste your time."

"Time is no longer something I'm concerned with, Monsieur." Tristan sat on the nearest bench and gestured for Grantaire to join him. "You've been very good for my Gabriel, Monsieur, and I appreciate it."

"De rein." Grantaire sat down, still dubious. "So, what's this magical mystery tour really about?"

Humblest apologies for the extended absence, and that includes my other stories. My laptop gave up the ghost and I've been borrowing computer time!

Translations, as usual –

Bonjour – hello, literally "good day," an expected pleasantry when greeting someone

Non – no

De rein – You're welcome/don't mention it