Work Text:
On Christmas Day, Marius returned late from his daily wanderings to find a package on his bed.
There was no question of who it was for, as his name was on it, but there was no hint as to the sender. Slightly perturbed, Marius opened it. Inside was a thick scarf of blue wool, finely made and soft. This confused him even more. It was not hard to guess how the giver had gotten in, since he left his key in the door, but who would go out of their way to give him something? There were only a few people who knew where he lived. It was certainly not his grandfather, he could not imagine that it was Ma’am Bougon, and M. Mabeuf had never visited his home. And such a gift would not have been too cheap. Could it have been Her? His heart leapt at the thought, but it was impossible; she did not know his name, much less where he lived.
There was, however, one other person he could think of.
Marius put on his hat again, put the scarf under his arm, and left his apartment again. The December wind bit bitterly at his face, and his worn coat offered little protection. It was only becoming more worn as the months got colder, Marius thought ruefully, since the absence of a fireplace in his apartment made it necessary for him to wear it almost constantly. The scarf was nice. Still, he turned onto the rue Saint-Jacques.
As he expected, he saw Courfeyrac coming down the street from the hotel, and ran to meet him.
“Did you break into my room to give me this?” Marius asked.
Courfeyrac bowed. “Good day to you too, Baron Pontmercy. And I did not break into your room. You left your door unlocked.”
Of course.
“It is very generous of you, Courfeyrac, but—”
Courfeyrac held up his hand. “I won’t hear a word. My dear, I know you hate to accept anything from me, but it’s winter, your coat is wearing thin, you don’t even have a fire; it is frightful. I cannot bear to think of you catching your death in that dreadful place. Please just accept it, as a personal favor to me.”
“But I did not get you anything, and I owe you a great deal already,” Marius said peevishly. “You don’t owe a thing to me.”
Courfeyrac crossed his arms and suddenly looked serious. “Marius, has it ever occurred to you that I might actually like you?”
Marius blinked.
“I mean it. That there is more between friends than—than just debts and owing?” He took Marius’s arm and gestured with his cane. “I know all about your principles and your honor. But a friendship is not precisely calculated with debts and payments like a bank loan. Do not aspire to rid yourself of debts, you will rid yourself of brotherhood also—I myself have owed some sum of money to Bahorel for years, and for that reason he dines with me every day,” he laughed. “And since he dines with me every day we are good friends, and for that I have gone to the trouble of bailing him out of the police station once or twice.”
“Ought we to calculate exactly what is owed and avoid running up a debt of favors? Or is it better just to be good to each other as well as we can? I myself think the balance will work itself out. You have not studied your Desmoulins, young man. Fraternité means that we are all obliged to our fellow man. It is no shame to rely on the goodwill of others so long as we offer goodwill to others in our turn. That is what we all owe to the common brotherhood of man—it is the nature of the Republic, you know. And you have been a fine friend to me. I don’t help you because I expect anything else in return,” Courfeyrac said. “In other words,” he said, taking his hand, “your friendship is enough. You owe me nothing more.”
Marius pondered this idea in silence. It did not seem quite possible.
“And,” Courfeyrac added, as though reading his mind, “I am sorry if you have ever been taught otherwise.”
“It’s just that you have given me so much,” Marius said quietly. “And you ask for so little. And…I have so little to give you.”
“Your friendship is enough,” Courfeyrac repeated kindly.
Marius hesitated, then wrapped the scarf around his neck. He stared at the ground. “You are always so good to me,” he said. “Thank you. Truly. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
Courfeyrac clapped him on the back. “Marius,” he said bracingly, “it’s only a scarf.”
Marius shook his head and began to turn away. “Merry Christmas,” Courfeyrac said, waving. “I suppose I’ll see you around?”
“Merry Christmas,” Marius responded vaguely. He took several steps in the opposite direction before stopping suddenly. He walked back up to Courfeyrac, who looked at him inquisitively. He embraced him.
Courfeyrac was caught off guard, but wrapped his arms around him warmly. “This is a welcome gift,” he laughed. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“Thank you,” Marius murmured. “For everything. I will make it all up to you. Someday.”
Courfeyrac sighed and patted his hair. “I’m sure you will. In the meantime, will you consent to having dinner with me?”
Marius released him. “I will.”
“And you can tell me about this girl you’ve been pining over for months,” Courfeyrac said, grinning.
Marius blushed and said nothing.