Part Nine: An Evening's Trials

Grantaire winces as Joly removes the poultice that he had placed on Grantaire's face. Joly's fingers press gently against the edges of the bruise, and he uses one hand on Grantaire's chin to turn Grantaire's face first one way and then the other.

"Your eyes are reacting properly. I don't think you're concussed. Your nose definitely isn't broken. The split lip should heal without stitches. You're going to have a beautiful bruise for the next few days even if you Change, and I'll lay even odds that your muzzle's going to be swollen when you shift, but otherwise I don't think there's any significant damage."

Grantaire nods, allowing his chin to drop to his chest as soon as Joly releases him. He hadn't thought anything was badly damaged, and he's had more experience than he'd care to remember with healing from blows. Still, it's nice of Enjolras to have the would-be doctor check him over before the trial begins.

And it's going to be a trial. All of the wolves have gathered, forming a loose semi-circle around where Grantaire sits in front of the fire and Bahorel paces. The tension is palpable in the room, a frenzy of fear and uncertainty lurking just beneath the human faces of most of the pack as they look between their leader and the two wolves that are about to be questioned. While Grantaire suspects that Enjolras is gentler and fairer with wolves who break his rules than most alphas, the knowledge does little to quiet the frightened whimpering of the wolf inside him that is certain they've angered their alpha.

"Good." Enjolras reaches over to touch Joly's shoulder, a comforting gesture, and the tension in the room eases slightly. "Now, if the two of you could explain to me what happened, I would appreciate it."

Grantaire glances over at Bahorel out of the corner of his eye. The strange wolf paces back and forth next to him, his head lowered but his shoulders hunched defensively as the focus of the entire pack shifts to him.

"Bahorel." Enjolras turns the name into a command, and Bahorel's head jerks up, his eyes meeting his alpha's defiantly. "Tell me what happened. That's all I'm asking. We can't decide what to change going forward if we don't know what happened to cause the problem in the past."

"Well, that's easy enough to answer." A snarl slips out of Bahorel's mouth, no less ferocious for being formed by a human throat. "Badeau attacked our stray without any provocation. He hit him hard enough to draw blood, Enjolras. It's clear enough Grantaire's been staying with us, that he's under our protection, and that man still hit him with me standing right there. He would have kept after him if I hadn't interfered."

"Is that true, Grantaire?" Enjolras' calm blue eyes pierce Grantaire, rooting him to the spot. "Was there no provocation?"

"I…" A low whimper works its way out of Grantaire's throat as he considers how to answer. He won't lie, of course. Even if it's possible that he could fool Enjolras, the pack-bond that would tie him to the alpha still only a ghostly potential hovering between them rather than an emotional highway that would give away his falsehood, he won't have a lie between them. "He approached me. He cornered me. He was insulting you and the pack and the changes that you've made. I responded… without the delicacy that a submissive should show to an alpha."

For a moment there's nothing but silence.

Then there's a suppressed laugh, followed by another, until finally Courfeyrac gives up trying to restrain his mirth. It fractures the remaining tension in the room, and even Enjolras smiles faintly as his gamma regains control of himself and straightens with an apologetic cough.

"Sorry." Courfeyrac doesn't look the least bit sorry. "I just… gods, Enjolras, can you imagine his face? Being told off by someone who smells like Grantaire?"

Grantaire finds himself smiling, just slightly, hope rising that perhaps this isn't going to turn out quite as badly as he thought it might.

A sense of gravitas returns to the room as Combeferre places an arm around Courfeyrac and a finger across his lips, but the feeling of being on the precipice of disaster has faded away. Enjolras allows a small sigh to slip from his mouth. "We've had… difficulty with Badeau in the past. He's one of the more traditional alphas in the area, which is made all the more frustrating by his youth. It is, unfortunately, easy to imagine how a conversation between you and he could have quickly escalated out of hand without someone else there to intervene."

"I offered to go over and help." Bahorel sounds almost petulant. "He shook his head like he had everything under control."

"I'm sure he did. I'm sure you even thought you did." Enjolras hesitates before shaking his head. "As much as I'm loath to say this, the blow that started the fight isn't what concerns me. I'm glad you're largely unscathed, Grantaire, but a scuffle between wolves on neutral territory wouldn't be the end of the world. Some of the Pack transforming in full daylight in front of a crowd of humans, however…"

"He made him bleed, Enjolras." There's a note of pleading in Bahorel's tone that Grantaire would never have expected to hear. "I was outnumbered and I could smell his blood, and him under our pack's protection—"

"We can't react like that." Enjolras speaks firmly, though there's compassion in his eyes as he watches Bahorel. "We can't allow our instincts to dictate our actions. We can protect each other, but we can't let our small pack interfere with what we're trying to do for the whole of the Pack. We can't risk frightening and alienating our allies."

"I didn't actually do it." Bahorel's gaze doesn't meet Enjolras'. "I may have threatened them, but I didn't force anything on anyone."

"Would you have done it?" Enjolras asks the question evenly.

"I… don't know." Bahorel shakes his head. "I don't know, Enjolras. I wanted to rip his throat out. Keeping that from spilling over, keeping it so that I wasn't encouraging them to Change, that was hard, and his pack was gathering… I might have. If Jehan hadn't heard my call and brought you, I might not have been able to help myself."

"It was good, your calling for Jehan." Enjolras reaches down and buries his hand in the poet's hair, earning a sigh from Jehan as the man slowly relaxes. "And it was quick thinking on Jehan's part to summon me."

"Summon you?" Grantaire frowns between Jehan and the alpha. "You can hear words through your pack-bonds when you're that far apart?"

"Sometimes." Enjolras says it as though it isn't important, as though it's not something more unique about this pack. "I keep the magic binding us together as strong as I can, so we can reach each other in times of need more easily. Emotions transfer easiest, of course, and general ideas and concepts like trouble or fight or change or hurt much more easily than any thought, but between all of it I can usually understand a summons from my wolves."

Grantaire stares in open, dumbfounded amazement at Enjolras. All alphas can sense their pack's emotions, but to actually communicate in something approaching the complexity of human speech, especially when they're not even in the same building… There are legends, of course, occasionally of alphas but more often of mates. Legends of mates who could read each other's minds more easily than a newspaper, who could speak mind-to-mind over great distances or even appear to each other when they were separated, but they're just legends. They're not real. What is this wolf?

"That's not the important thing right now, though." Enjolras turns from Bahorel to the rest of the pack. "Ideas?"

"The first one of you who says it, I'll punch you." Bahorel's hands are clenched into fists. "You can't place a command like that on me, Enjolras. And if you're going to try it, just do it, don't make a farce of a vote out of it."

"Bahorel…" Jehan's tone is pleading, his eyes wide as he looks between his mate and his alpha. "Don't do this. No one's said anything about commanding you to do anything."

"No." Enjolras turns to face Bahorel, still the picture of calm. "But you're right. It would be one option, one way to ensure that it doesn't happen again."

"I told you when I agreed to join the pack that I wouldn't be commanded like a dog." Bahorel's head is down, his green eyes bright with anger and fear, his black hair bristling despite the lack of wind inside the pack's den.

Grantaire gulps down a breath, suddenly having to hold the Change back by sheer force of will, not certain that he's going to be able to do it for long.

"Peace." Enjolras' power washes through the room, dismissing the desire to run, to Change, to escape. "Bahorel, peace."

"It's a part of who I am." Bahorel turns away, suddenly looking more embarrassed than afraid. "It's half of what I am, Enjolras. If you tried to bind it up in the pack's power… I'm not sure even you could do that."

"We wouldn't know unless we tried." Enjolras' voice is calm, implacable. "But you're right. I promised to be an alpha who would listen to you, not forcing my power or opinion on you, and I like to believe I've lived up to that."

"You have." Bahorel's voice is a quiet whisper, and he inches towards his alpha while looking anywhere but at him. "And I'm sorry. When you ask our opinion, you mean to hear it, not your own words echoed back at you. I'm just… on edge about what happened."

"Does anyone wish to see Bahorel punished for his actions?" Enjolras' words somehow manage to ring through the room, though they're spoken quietly.

No one speaks. Grantaire finds himself looking around the room, trying to read the expressions and the scents of these wolves he's known for only a few days. Surely they wouldn't turn on Bahorel over what happened. Surely they will understand his actions.

Surely he hasn't already begun splintering this pack, before he's even properly joined it.

After a few moment of silence Enjolras smiles. "We're your pack, Bahorel. We don't want to change who or what you are. We just want to help you make better choices about your options in the future. Now, do what we both know you need to do before this can be over."

Without any further prompting Bahorel leaps at his alpha, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Enjolras catches the black-haired man, and in a blur of motion they're both on the ground. Enjolras straddles Bahorel, holding the male wolf's arms above his head, and a single bead of blood drips from Bahorel's left ear to the ground.

"Now." Enjolras' voice is a low, authoritative growl. "Do you want to see what they gave me as their votes?"

After a moment Bahorel raises his chin, exposing his throat. Enjolras releases his hold on Bahorel's arms and places one hand against the male's chest. Enjolras' eyes close, and he breathes deeply, his voice taking on a soft, sing-song quality as his power sweeps out to fill the room, so strong Grantaire can almost taste it, contained fire and vibrant hope on his tongue. "From Jehan: love, frustration, give him another chance. From Joly: don't do anything that could be medically foolish; a warning will suffice. From Bossuet: give a warning; he's prone to fighting, not to stupidity. From Feuilly: show him how incredibly stupid an idea it was, he's smart enough to figure it out. From Musichetta: he was right. From Monet: punish Badeau. From you: I'm sorry, don't be like the other packs. From Courfeyrac: a warning, and ask if Feuilly can paint the image on Badeau's face as he realized he couldn't win. It would make a good dart-board. From Combeferre: let it go, there's been too much tension in the pack these last few days. From Grantaire: don't punish him, I'm not worth it."

Bahorel lies still throughout the recitation, eyes dilated wide until the forest-green iris is almost drowned out. When it's done, he gives a shuddering breath and goes limp underneath Enjolras. "White Lady, Enjolras. How do you think with all of us in your head?"

"Mostly I try not to think when I'm receiving that much information. It's when I'm asking for your thoughts, after all. I let you do the thinking for me for a few minutes. As for how I process it all…" Enjolras shrugs and smiles as he stands, but there's a slight tremor to his hand as he reaches down to offer Bahorel assist in standing, a tiredness to his eyes that hadn't been there before. "I suppose it's what being an alpha means. You needed to see that, though. You need to know that you can trust us, as we trust you."

"I'm sorry." Bahorel rests his head against his alpha's shoulder. "I won't do it again. Next time I'll just rip his throat out with my human teeth, preferably after giving him two black eyes, a broken nose, and a broken jaw."

"If speaking reason to him fails, I think that's an acceptable alternative plan." Enjolras' arm goes around his delta, holding the man to him. "And out of us all, Bahorel, I think you'd have the best chance of doing it."

XXX

Cosette knows that it's foolish to keep going outside. She knows that Wolf has gone, somehow, as mysteriously as he came, and there's nothing to be gained but cold feet by returning to the garden again and again.

She still does it, though. She hadn't realized how beautiful the garden could be in winter. It's a quiet beauty, a silent, harsh beauty, but beauty nonetheless, and it somehow makes the ache of missing the dog that had never been hers in the first place go away.

She notices the man the third time she goes out.

He's still there the fifth time, wandering back and forth outside the garden gate as though lost, and her heart skips a beat as she realizes why his clothing looks so familiar. She held it in her hands this morning.

She should get her father. She should be wary of a strange man hanging around outside their house.

All she can bring herself to feel is intrigued, though, and there's something endearing in the way he keeps staring toward the garden—toward her, she realizes after a moment.

What harm can there be in talking to him? There's a gate between them, anyway, solid iron bars to keep him from threatening her, and she's quite capable of screaming if she needs to.

"Good evening, monsieur." Cosette keeps her hands folded properly in front of her as she approaches the gate. "Are you lost?"

"I—no, I—I—" The man takes a step back, as though she's a threat, and his eyes dart to the left and right as though ensuring he has an escape path.

It's a strange way for a man to behave. Tilting her head slightly, Cosette studies this stranger whose clothes she knows far too intimately. "I'm sorry if I startled you, monsieur. I just thought I could possibly be of assistance."

"You didn't startle me." The man shakes his head, his fine brown hair settling in a cloud around his face. Hazel-brown eyes stare out at her, earnest, eager, and she feels her breath catch in her throat.

She knows those eyes. She saw them looking at her this morning from Wolf's face. "Have I met you somewhere before, Monsieur?"

"You—" The man swallows hard, seeming to find his voice as he settles his feet firmly in the snow as though facing down a foe. "You may have seen me around. I've been working with my dog. He's a big mutt, about this tall at the shoulders, smart as a whip but occasionally prone to doing foolhardy things like running away."

"Oh." Cosette nods, vaguely disappointed to have such a simple explanation for why his eyes are familiar. "Was he missing this morning?"

"He was. The rascal spent the night out on the town. It seems that some kind soul took care of him, though, since he wasn't hungry when I finally retrieved him. I've been going up and down the street, looking to find the person who did so that I can repay them. I don't suppose you've any idea who might have taken pity on a stray in the night?" The man stares at her with those too-familiar eyes, eyes that seem to look right through hers and down into her soul, to read the joy of this morning's time with Wolf too easily.

Turning away, suddenly feeling uneasy, as though this man somehow knows more about her than she does about him, she nods. "We took care of a dog last night. He was a beautiful creature, and quite friendly. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing him again."

The man hesitates, suddenly looking trapped and uneasy again. "Perhaps that could be arranged. For now, will you simply accept my humble thanks? There are many who don't show pity even to their fellow humans at this time of year. Showing pity to a dog takes a great deal of kindness."

"It was no hardship. And I fear there may be people more eager to care for a dog than for their fellow man, if the actions of some at the parish are to be believed." Cosette finds her right hand, encased in a glove to protect it from the cold, resting against the bars separating her from the stranger. She doesn't remember putting it there, but after a second's hesitation she decides not to remove it. There's still nothing that the stranger could do to truly harm her… and, perhaps, it would be good to feel the touch of another human being besides Papa.

"I will repay your kindness." The stranger continues to stare at her, as though she were the most fascinating creature in the world. His left hand rises, brushes gently against her gloved fingers, so gently that she can't even properly say if she felt it. "I am, unfortunately, short on funds at the moment, but when I am able I will definitely repay your kindness."

"There's no need." Shaking her head, Cosette tries not to blush or react to his touch at all. "As I said, your dog was quite the gentleman, and I thoroughly enjoyed his company."

"Could I ask you something important?" The man speaks with an intense gravity, his eyebrows drawn together as he continues to watch her, the fingers of his left hand that had touched her rubbing together.

"You may ask anything." Smiling, Cosette finally pulls her hand back to her side. "There's a chance that I may not wish to or be able to answer, though."

"What's your name?"

"Cosette." She breathes the name softly, but he smiles as though he heard it clearly. "Well, technically Euphrasie, but my mother called me Cosette. It's the name I'm more familiar with and used to."

"Cosette, then." The man smiles and draws a deep breath, his eyes seeming to light from within. "It's a beautiful name."

"And do you have a name, monsieur?" She can't help but smile in turn, his joy and energy contagious. "Or must I simply call you the dog man?"

"Marius." His hand wraps around one of the bars. "My name is Marius, but you may call me anything you like."

"I think I should like to call you Marius, then." Cosette allows her fingers to glance across his before taking a step back. "I should get back to the house before my father worries. I should very much like to see you and your dog again sometime, though, Marius."

"I think I will be able to arrange that, Cosette." Marius' expression is grave as he watches her walk away, and it's disconcerting how very much his eyes look like Wolf's. "I'm sure that Wolf would like it, as well."

"Another day, then." Cosette forces herself to take another step back and turn, though all she wants is to stay at the gate and talk with this stranger with his strange eyes. "Take care of yourself, Monsieur Marius. Try to ensure that your dog doesn't make off with your clothes again."

He reddens at the jibe, the color contrasting prettily with his serious demeanor as he watches her depart.

How did the clothes that Wolf had been carrying end up on Marius' body? It makes no sense. Perhaps they aren't the same, after all. Perhaps she's misremembering.

Perhaps he doesn't have the exact same eyes as Wolf. Perhaps they are a similar shade. Perhaps that's even why he chose Wolf as his dog.

And perhaps there's a perfectly good reason for a man who can't afford to darn his clothes properly to have such a beautiful creature as his pet. Perhaps he uses Wolf in his livelihood. Perhaps he is a hunter or a tracker or even a breeder of beautiful Wolf-dogs.

But then…

He called the dog Wolf. What are the chances that he would have named the dog the same thing that she did? Well, true, the dog does have a rather wolf-like appearance, but still…

Marius is a mystery, and one she intends to explore thoroughly if given half a chance.

XXX

The pack disperses while Grantaire is still staring numbly at the floor, his mind trying to process what happened during the trial—trying to process that it's over, that nothing terrible has happened, that the worst didn't come to pass.

Something wonderful happened, instead, and he allows his gaze to travel over to Enjolras, who is currently in the process of handing Bahorel over to Jehan, the three wolves smiling and laughing in easy camaraderie.

As if he can feel the weight of Grantaire's stare, Enjolras looks over and excuses himself from the other two wolves.

Grantaire turns his gaze back to the floor. He watches Enjolras' shadow as the alpha approaches him, feeling his body react properly, showing subservience even as his mind continues to reel.

"Are you all right?" Enjolras' hand lands on his shoulder. "There's no need to worry, Grantaire. Badeau already gave you more punishment than was proper for speaking your mind. Having an opinion is no crime in this pack."

"You included me." The words are a bare whispered mumble, too low for even their ears to pick out properly.

"Hm?" Enjolras bends down, putting them both on an even level. "Could you repeat that?"

"When you told—showed—Bahorel the pack's vote… you included me."

"I did, didn't I?" Enjolras makes a soft, considering sound. "I'm sorry if you didn't want me to. The bond potential's there—it's been there since yesterday, and when I open myself like I did to read their opinions it sometimes tries to snap into place. Don't worry, though. If you want to leave, you still can. You're not actually pack yet."

"No! I don't…" Swallowing hard, Grantaire fights to inch his gaze up to meet Enjolras'. "Thank you. I'm sorry that I got him into trouble, and thank you."

Enjolras is quiet, his expression distant and slightly troubled. "You shouldn't thank me for doing what all alphas—what all people—should do. Every man has a voice. All people should be able to speak, dominant or submissive, human or wolf, male or female."

"I would actually be very glad if Badeau would learn to be quiet and listen rather than speak." Grantaire tries to smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Yes." Enjolras smiles, as well, and Grantaire's heart sores. "Some men do need to learn to listen more than they need to learn to speak. And some who speak need to learn, period. That's why Combeferre's ideas about free education for everyone are rather attractive. You, I think, need to practice both speaking and listening."

"I've a tendency to talk even when I shouldn't, if you ask most people. And I'm actually quite good at listening." A self-deprecating smile slips onto Grantaire's face. "I could listen to you speak all day."

"And do you actually hear what I say?" Enjolras' fingers glance against the bottom of Grantaire's chin, bringing them briefly into eye contact again. "I know you're eager for a pack. I know you're eager to belong, and that I've impressed you and dazzled you without actually meaning to. I know that if I asked, right now, you would gladly take the opportunity to become pack. But do you know what it actually means to me? Do you truly hear what I say, and do you truly want to risk your life for our beliefs? Because that's what I will ask of you, just as I do all of the rest."

"Yes." Grantaire nods, trying not to shake, trying not to beg or plead or cry or otherwise humiliate himself. "If you would let me be part of the pack, I would do anything, including die."

Enjolras' expression falls, disappointment showing for a moment before being hidden away. "Find what you want, Grantaire. Find what you'll fight for, and bring it to the pack. Then you'll truly be one of us."

Grantaire stares in dismay at the alpha as he rises and walks towards the hall, making his way through the pack. Enjolras touches Courfeyrac's shoulder, ruffles Feuilly's hair, whispers something in Bossuet's ear that earns a grin from the man, and finally turns down the hallway that leads to his room.

The joy is still there, the pleasure of being almost-pack, but it's tainted again by the bitterness of disappointing the one wolf whose regard he wants.

Closing his eyes and sighing in frustration, Grantaire decides he's spent far too much time as a sober human today.

XXX

Marius waits until it's fully dark to slip back into the garden.

It's foolish.

It's idiotic.

It's a death-wish, almost, his courting discovery like this.

But he wants to see her again. He wants to speak with her again. He wants to play with her again, to have her laugh and smile at him, be completely open with him as she had been when he was in wolf-shape.

He also hasn't found anywhere else safe to stay yet, and the garden in wolf-shape is the warmest place currently available to him as accommodations.

Sighing, he strips out of his clothes and hides them in the densest part of the garden that he can find, where they hopefully won't attract the eye of the lady of the house. Sinking down on all fours, he allows the transformation to sweep over him again.

Bounding up and shaking himself off when it's over, he turns his face to the sky and barely suppresses a howl.

He has someplace relatively warm and protected to stay. He will likely be fed again in the morning. He will have the girl to play with.

Really, asking anything more of the black night would be asking to buy trouble.

XXX

Combeferre stops just inside the door to his room, a smile slowly spreading across his face as he takes in the somewhat unexpected view.

Enjolras is curled at the foot of the bed, still human, in his black pants and an open white shirt but without any socks or shoes. Blond hair falls across the female's face, hiding any possible view of his eyes. The alpha has chosen a curled position that would seem more comfortable were he wolf-shaped, but he seems to be sleeping soundly anyway, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Slipping out of his own shoes, Combeferre pads silently across the room and crawls up onto the bed next to Enjolras. He can tell that Enjolras wakes the moment his hand touches the bed, a slight heightening and thrumming of the pack-bond between them and just the barest hitch in his breathing, but Enjolras stays still as Combeferre settles next to him.

"Hello." Enjolras' tone is quiet, sleep-slurred, and his eyes remain closed.

"Hello yourself." Combeferre reaches out and slowly shifts his alpha until Enjolras' head is resting in his lap. A slight thrill goes through him, the wolf in the back of his brain whimpering briefly that this isn't proper, but then Enjolras' blue eyes open, he smiles, and everything's right with the world again. "I must say I wasn't expecting you to be here, though in retrospect I shouldn't be surprised. Even you have your limits."

"I always seem to surprise myself and everyone around me when I find them, though." A smile is lost in a yawn as Enjolras blinks himself back to full awareness. "It's all right. It was good for the pack. I'll gladly pay with exhaustion and a bit of a headache if it helps put old demons to rest."

"He should have known you'd never try to bind him like that." Combeferre strokes the hair away from Enjolras' face, his hands moving to and massaging his alpha's temples.

"Should he have?" Enjolras sighs contentedly, his muscles relaxing as Combeferre's fingers work their magic. "His birth pack tried to kill him. I wouldn't be surprised if other alphas attempted to bind him, to both their detriments. And I… if I thought I needed to, for his safety or ours… perhaps one day I might try it. But not today. Not for Badeau. I won't give him the satisfaction."

"Instead you'll read all of us more deeply than most alphas ever could, hold it in your mind for several minutes while fighting, and then show it to him through the pack-bond while narrating to the rest of us." Combeferre finds his smile fading as he tries to imagine the concentration and power required to do all of that. No wonder Enjolras' tired. Any other alpha would be mad or dead trying something like that, not merely spent. "You could have found a simpler method of reassurance, you know."

"He needed to see." Enjolras murmurs the words, his voice already sleep-slurred again. "He needed to feel it, Combeferre, that we aren't afraid, that we're on his side. Some more on his side than I would like, because he didn't handle the incident as well as he should have, but I'll deal with that when the stray isn't exacerbating every little scuffle to a matter of pack-splitting importance."

"It's not his fault." Combeferre stops, startled to find himself speaking in the stray's defense. "We're the ones who want to give him time to decide. He'd ask for admittance to the pack now, if we gave him the opportunity. And he can't help that having him here, an outsider but not an outsider, makes all our wolves jittery and nervous."

"I never said I blamed him." Enjolras opens his eyes again, his expression suddenly grave and awake and very, very tired. "I don't. I just… wish he could be more than what he is. I see it in him, what he could be, the ally that he could be, but it's not there yet. It hasn't come to fruition, and I'm not sure it will ever be able to, not with how scarred and cynical his soul is."

"If you don't want him in the pack, just say so." Combeferre moves from massaging Enjolras' temples to working at the tense muscles in his neck. "If you don't want to drive him away, I'm quite capable of doing it."

"I'm not that callous." Enjolras shivers, allowing his eyes to slip closed again. "I'll accept him by the end of the week, if the pack wants it and he hasn't thought better of it. White Lady, Combeferre, when did you become so good at this?"

"When a certain young wolf I was traveling with had a bad habit of almost picking up pack members and then having to sever the connections when they didn't actually want to join him, resulting in many a night spent with a sore head and a tired soul." Ruffling Enjolras' hair before smoothing it out again, he tries and fails to lean his head down to rub against Enjolras' shoulder. Having hands is good, but there are times when being able to combine wolf and human elements would be even more useful. Those experiments had also resulted in a sore wolf with a splitting headache—or backache or leg ache or arm ache or whole body ache—so it's one dream he'll have to put on permanent hiatus until additional information becomes available.

"I'm glad you agreed to come with me." Enjolras' hand finds Combeferre's, his grip firm and warm. "Are you happy with what we've created? With who we've found and chosen? With what we're doing?"

"Yes." The word is a quiet whisper, for Enjolras' ears only as Combeferre returns his grasp. Touching his pack-bond to Enjolras, he opens his mind, allowing his alpha to see the joy he feels as beta of this pack, his contentedness with Courfeyrac as his mate, his determination to continue and complete their work.

Enjolras sighs, his eyes closed and a beatific smile on his face as he opens his mind in turn. Combeferre draws in a sharp breath—even as tired as Enjolras is, there's a fire and warmth to Enjolras' thoughts and drives that Combeferre's never felt with anyone else. It's a good fire, though, and he sighs as it flows through him, over him.

"Well." Courfeyrac's voice is a splash of cold water in his face, and Combeferre finds himself blinking up in surprise at his mate's displeased face. "I'm glad that you, at least, are enjoying yourselves."

Enjolras struggles into a sitting position, though he pales as he does so. Combeferre keeps a hand on his alpha's shoulder, feeling the bone-aching weariness slip across the pack-bond between them as it hadn't before. It's impossible for Enjolras to hide it from him now, not after how close their minds were a moment before. There's no trace of the exhaustion in Enjolras' voice when he speaks, though. "I'm sorry, Courfeyrac. I didn't intend to hurt Grantaire, and if you want me to leave Combeferre alone I will."

Courfeyrac continues to frown at them, though his expression softens and Combeferre can feel his anger shredding away to a quiet frustration as he looks at Enjolras. "I'm not jealous of you. I'd be a fool if I was. He was your first and he's your beta. What we have is no more or less important because he loves you, too. But I thought you were being purposefully obtuse or cruel with Grantaire, not realizing you were simply too tired to deal with him properly, and that I would call you to task on without any hesitancy."

"What's Grantaire doing?" Enjolras moves to the edge of the bed.

Courfeyrac's hand on his shoulder keeps him from getting up, Courfeyrac's head tucked as low as it will go to keep there from being any offense in his stopping his alpha. "He'll be all right. He's sulking in wolf form while Jehan and Bahorel attempt to cheer him up. There may be some broken furniture in the morning if Bahorel gets tired of cheer and instead turns to physical coercion to snap him out of it, but that's a better option than you running around pretending you're fine when you're just about ready to pass out from exhaustion."

Enjolras hesitates a bare second. "It's not pride. I'm their alpha. I have to appear strong and in control, or their wolves get nervous."

"I know." Courfeyrac climbs onto the bed on Enjolras' other side, sandwiching their alpha between him and Combeferre. "Which is why the three of us are going to sleep together in here, and when you're better able to think clearly in the morning you'll be kind to Grantaire, and everything will continue on as though nothing happened. Acceptable?"

Without waiting for a response Courfeyrac buries his face against his alpha's chest, sending them both crashing back into Combeferre. There's a moment of quiet, during which Combeferre can feel Courfeyrac's attention and magic focused on his pack-bond with Enjolras, though their own mate-bond stays quiescent and silent.

Enjolras laughs, the remaining tension draining from his body, and wraps his arms around his gamma even as his eyes drift closed again.

Combeferre waits for Enjolras' breathing to take on the easy regularity of sleep again before drawing Courfeyrac's attention to him with a sharp tug on their mate-bond.

"Mm?" Courfeyrac's head raises just enough so that he can peer at Combeferre over Enjolras.

"What did you tell him or show him?" How had he made Enjolras laugh, something that so few people were able to do?

Courfeyrac just smiles, a mixture of fondness and smug satisfaction coming to Combeferre through their bond. "It wouldn't be funny now. The timing's all wrong."

Combeferre scowls at his mate, but Courfeyrac shows no sign of caring as he settles back down again. After a second Combeferre allows the scowl to fade, accepting that his curiosity won't be sated this time. Allowing his affection for Courfeyrac and the peace he feels being here, with his alpha and his mate, to trickle across their bond, he carefully reaches over Enjolras to touch Courfeyrac's arm. "You know that what he said is true. He's my alpha, but you're my mate."

"I know." Courfeyrac's fingers tease along Combeferre's wrist. "As much as it means anything in this pack, with him stopping us from enjoying the fall."

Combeferre frowns. "It means a great deal. It means I'm tied as closely to you as I am to him."

"I know, Combeferre." Courfeyrac's fingers pause, clasp him tight for a moment before continuing their slow exploration. "That was a complaint about the lack of fall, not about your affections. You're a good mate; he's a good alpha. I'm lucky to have you both. Now, let's go to sleep so Enjolras can sleep and stop pretending that he's not hearing this rather embarrassing conversation."

Combeferre realizes, belatedly, that his pack-bond to Enjolras is indeed humming with conscious thought again. Settling down with a sigh, he tries to banish any embarrassment in the scents and sounds and feel of these two people that he loves dearly.

Here in their home, with the faint sounds of their pack echoing through the halls, it's easy to be happy. It's easy to revel in his fainter bonds to his pack-mates, to borrow from Feuilly's contented joy as he experiments with a new type of paintbrush, to revel in the wildness and power that Bahorel's dual heritage has afforded him, to borrow the low but ever-burning flame of passion and eye for beauty from Jehan, to feel mirrored in his own soul Musichetta's fondness for and protectiveness of her two males…

Allowing his mind to drift through the subtle hints of emotion trickling in from the rest of the pack, he decides once more that they're the best group of wolves he and Enjolras could ever have hoped to gather.

And one day, thanks to this amazing pack that they've built, the whole world will be a better place.