Chapter Text
Grantaire rolled over and pressed a kiss to Enjolras’s forehead. “Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered.
Enjolras groaned and burrowed his face into his pillow. “It’s too early,” he complained, his voice muffled. “Why are you up so goddamn early? Is the sun even up yet?”
“I know you used to be able to make your own hours when you were a white collar criminal,” Grantaire said, sounding amused, as he slid out of bed, fishing his boxers from the night before out of the pile of clothes on the floor, “but now that you’re a Bureau man, you know we keep strict hours.”
Though Enjolras managed to lift his head enough to scowl in Grantaire’s general direction, he made no effort to move, instead mumbling, “Strict hours my ass. This is ungodly early even for you. I don’t know if I can keep living like this.”
Grantaire laughed as he buttoned up his shirt. “Well you’re just going to have to suck it up,” he said, stooping over to kiss Enjolras’s head again, grinning when Enjolras half-heartedly tried to bat him away. “And if you get to the office on time I’ll even take you out for lunch, my treat.”
Enjolras just groaned and squinted through slitted eyes, watching as Grantaire slipped out of his bedroom. He let out a moody harrumph and rolled into the warm space left by Grantaire, ready to curl up and go back to sleep until his alarm went off. Instead, just as Grantaire was slipping out, Courfeyrac bustled into Enjolras’s room, whistling loudly. “Rise and shine!” he practically sang, pulling the quilt off of Enjolras, who let out a noise like a scalded cat.
“Why is everyone awake so early?” Enjolras groused. “All I want is to sleep.”
Courfeyrac clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. “Well, then I guess you don’t want this steaming mug of coffee that I’ve brought you—” Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Enjolras had sat up and snatched the mug from his hands, and Courfeyrac hid a laugh. “I thought as much.”
Around the rim of the coffee mug, Enjolras asked, “Why are you here, Courf? And why are you bringing me coffee?”
“I have to have a reason to bring my favorite houseguest coffee?” Courfeyrac asked, arching an eyebrow at Enjolras, who just looked unamused. “Fine,” he sighed, perching on the edge of Enjolras’s bed. “I found something. Someone slipped a note under the front door, for you. And before you asked, yes, I already read it.”
Enjolras frowned, more puzzled than anything, and reached out to take the note from Courfeyrac, scanning it quickly. As soon as he had read it, he sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. “What’s going on?” Courfeyrac asked, his voice sharp. “That note—”
“It’s nothing,” Enjolras said, though his grip on the piece of paper was as tight as his expression. “At least, I don’t think so. I’m not entirely sure.”
Courfeyrac frowned. “It didn’t exactly read like nothing…”
Enjolras shook his head, his expression grim. “Whatever it is, I’ll figure it out.” He managed a small smile, even though it wasn’t particularly reassuring. “And in the meantime, I’m going to meet up with Combeferre and discuss this with him.”
“Oh, well, if Combeferre’s involved, I’m not too worried, then,” Courfeyrac said sagely, grinning when Enjolras scowled at him. “You know that if you need anything, you only need to ask.”
Though Enjolras smiled and nodded, his smile quickly fell as soon as Courfeyrac slipped out of his room. Instead, he reached for his cellphone, his brow furrowing, and texted Combeferre. [To: Combeferre] Need to meet. Urgent.
He sent that message and hesitated before following it up with [To: Combeferre] I think I might be in danger.
“This had better be as urgent as you say,” Combeferre said in lieu of greeting as he dropped into the chair across from him, almost comically large sunglasses over his normal glasses. “You know I hate meeting when you’re on your way to or from work. You know the feds are watching your every move.”
Enjolras barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “You’re dating the roommate of an FBI agent,” he said patiently. “If they wanted to track your movements, it’d be easier to do it through him than through me.” Combeferre just glared defiantly at Enjolras — at least Enjolras assumed it was defiant, since he couldn’t see half of Combeferre’s face — who sighed. “Besides, at this point, the feds aren’t the only ones watching me.”
Combeferre frowned and Enjolras slid the note across the table to him. There was a moment of silence, and then Combeferre reached up to take his sunglasses off, his expression as grim as Enjolras’s. “Do you know who this is from?”
Shrugging, Enjolras sat back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee with feigned nonchalance. “With as many very powerful people as I’ve pissed off?” Combeferre didn’t look amused and Enjolras sighed again and shook his head. “I have my suspicions, but I need to to confirm them through a few different sources. Especially since my list of enemies of recent seems longer than my list of friends.”
There was a brief moment of silence before Combeferre said hesitantly, “With a threat of this nature, especially a written threat, you could go to the police—”
“No.” Enjolras’s voice was sharp, and his grip on his coffee cup so tight that his knuckles were white. “No, going to the police about this is not an option. There’s too much at stake, and too much history that would need to be revealed. Besides which, they don’t have the resources to deal with something like this, not when the perpetrators are most likely criminals who should have been put away a long time ago.”
Combeferre half-smiled. “Well, you’re certainly not going to find me talking you out of staying far away from the government on this one, but that does raise the stakes for us.” He paused, running his finger around the rim of his coffee cup before asking in a strange-sounding voice, “Do you know who they’re going to go after first to get to you?”
If possible, Enjolras paled even more than before, and he avoided Combeferre’s gaze, his voice soft when he responded. “They could go after my family, of course, but I haven’t used my real name since I became legally emancipated, and anyone who knows anything about me knows that we were never close. They could go after any of Les Amis, but they’d have a hard time, especially with the underworld connections that you all still have.” He paused, a muscle working in his jaw, and added, so quietly that Combeferre almost couldn’t hear him, “Which leaves only one person that I would do anything to protect.”
Neither of them needed to say it — they both knew that Enjolras was referring to Grantaire.
Combeferre sighed and sat forward. “So what are you going to do about it?”
For the first time that morning, Enjolras smiled, something almost vicious in his smile. “Anyone stupid enough to go after Grantaire will get exactly what’s coming to them.” His smile faded but his eyes remained sharp. “I will do everything in my power to make sure that he is protected. I’ll have Joly and Bossuet look into putting a few different people on it, and ask Courfeyrac to update his house’s security. I assume you can take care of Grantaire and Jehan’s apartment?”
“Of course,” Combeferre said instantly. “I’ll swing by to visit Jehan for lunch and make sure to set up a few cameras and microphones, standard remote surveillance. It’ll probably be a few days before I can gather all of the equipment necessary for more advanced surveillance and security measures, but I’m there pretty much every night.”
Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh really?” he asked, welcoming the brief break from the serious subject matter. “Spending that much time with Jehan?”
Combeferre raised an eyebrow right back at him. “You’re hardly one to talk. Grantaire hasn’t spent the night at his apartment for over a week.”
“And the only way you would know is if you hadn’t either,” Enjolras shot back, though he was smiling fondly, remembering all of the various nights that he had spent with Grantaire recently. “Besides, three nights ago doesn’t count. We were on a stakeout.”
“Dare I ask how much surveillance you actually got done?” Combeferre asked dryly, and Enjolras’s grin widened. “I thought as much.” He paused, suddenly serious again. “What are you planning on telling Grantaire?” Enjolras’s frown faltered, and he shrugged, looking uncomfortable, and Combeferre pressed, “Are you planning on telling Grantaire?”
Enjolras shook his head, his expression grim again. “If I’m not going to the police, that means I can’t tell Grantaire either. He’ll be ethically obligated to report something like that, and I won’t put him in that position. I’ve done enough to compromise his morals as is.” With a shrug, he drained his coffee and stood. “I’m going to handle this alone. And what Grantaire doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“You know, I can’t pretend that lunch out with me is a huge motivator, but I thought it might at least tempt you slightly to get here approximately on time,” Grantaire said, his voice wry from where he leaned against Enjolras’s desk, clearly waiting for him.
“Sorry,” Enjolras said, though he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. “I had to swing by the café, but you’ll be pleased to know that I picked you up some coffee.”
He held up the cup and smiled when Grantaire’s eyes lit up. “My hero.” He grabbed the coffee and took a swig before asking, “Why’d you have to swing by the café? And why did it take so long that it made you late?”
Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “Is this an interrogation, Agent Grantaire?” he asked coolly.
Grantaire looked taken aback for a moment. “Should this be an interrogation?” he asked, matching Enjolras’s tone. “I wasn’t under the impression that I had any reason not to trust you, but…”
“Sorry, it was a joke,” Enjolras said quickly, giving Grantaire a strained version of his usual smile. “As you might recall, I got woken up a bit early this morning, and apparently it’s made my sense of humor go all wonky.” He glanced around furtively before leaning in and kissed Grantaire swiftly on the cheek. “I’ll work on it. And as repayment for being late, I will take you out for lunch, my treat.”
Grantaire looked suspicious for a moment, but then his expression softened and he shrugged. “Fine, but we’re going to that deli that I like, and you’re shelling out for me to get the premium pastrami and the spicy mustard, and you’re going to kiss me afterwards and not complain about how it made my breath smell.”
Enjolras laughed and shook his head. “Deal.” He reached out to squeeze Grantaire’s arm before sliding around to sit down at his desk. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“And if you had been here on time, you would’ve had more time to do it,” Grantaire said breezily, though he winked before heading back to his office.
Enjolras watched him go, a muscle working in his jaw and worry clear in the lines that tightened around his eyes, but then he turned back to his computer. He did have work to do, even if it wasn’t FBI work, and it was just as important that he got it done before anything could happen as it was that Grantaire never found out about it.