Chapter Text
“The fact of the matter is that – ”
“SOURCE!”
“ – that these people have completely – ”
“SOURCE!”
“ – completely underestimated the – ”
“S – ”
With a kind of benevolent exasperation, Cosette flicked Grantaire’s ear and settled back into Jehan’s lap, returning R’s betrayed scowl with a little one-shoulder shrug. Enjolras continued as before, looking marginally less murderous, and Combeferre relaxed.
“Thank you,” he mouthed to Cosette, but her eyes were trained on Enjolras, nodding slightly. Combeferre smiled. Marius had worried initially, but Courfeyrac had downright threatened them all with disembowelment if they didn’t immediately fall in love with Cosette.
“She’s lonely,” he’d insisted. “You can tell.” And then he’d proceeded to hover around Cosette like she was an abandoned fledgling, much to Marius’ amusement, and, as they all got to know Cosette, the rest of the group saw why.
Cosette could handle herself just fine. She’d found a place in the group’s dynamics without much trouble at all, and she’d bonded spectacularly with most everyone, but Enjolras especially. Combeferre had been somewhat surprised (and perhaps a tad possessive, if he was being completely honest), but he breathed a little bit easier knowing he had someone else watching their fearless leader as closely as he was – not as a god, but as a human being with limitations and needs and feelings.
Perhaps, Combeferre thought, the reason they got along so well was because, like Cosette, Enjolras was an incredibly formidable person who also happened to be incredibly lonely.
The meeting ended, and Cosette immediately leapt up to talk to Enjolras. Combeferre made a couple of notes and pulled up the format for the recap email on his laptop. With everyone’s schedules, it was nearly impossible to have everyone at every meeting. Feuilly had mentioned it once, citing his frustration with balancing studying and multiple jobs and saving the world, and thus, the ABC newsletter had been born. He checked the attendance list and sighed.
Marius had never exactly been a consistent member, so multiple absences from him were hardly a surprise – but Éponine, and by extension, Gavroche, never missed too many meetings unless they absolutely had to. Grantaire had already disappeared, and while Gavroche idolized Bahorel, Bahorel wasn’t the best with communication. That left Courfeyrac, who had just ducked out, but maybe Combeferre could catch him before he’d gotten too far –
Courfeyrac was pacing just outside, brow furrowed and free hand shoved in his pocket. Combeferre’s mouth clamped shut.
"Oh, come on!" his friend was insisting. "I can handle pick up and drop off duty, I’ve done it loads of times. Put it this way - it's less time for your secret vampire boyfriend to bully him into helping out with Mafia stuff."
A pause in which Courfeyrac bit his lip. Combeferre crossed his arms against the cold, uneasy.
"It saves you gas money,” his friend pointed out and then winced, amending hastily, “It’s not charity. Jesus, Ponine. He could sleepover if he wanted to, like he used to. We’ve got too much damn popcorn, anyway." Another pause. Courfeyrac’s jaw tightened as his breath fogging in the chilly air. "No, but he is," he said emphatically.
Combeferre hung back, unsure if Courfeyrac would want him to be listening in.
"You could come over, too, you know," Courfeyrac offered after a moment, chewing on the knuckle of his thumb, and something in his voice let Combeferre know that no, yeah, this was not something he needed to hear, he needed to give him some privacy, but just as he was about to nip back inside, Courfeyrac turned and jumped.
“Sorry,” Combeferre mouthed. Courfeyrac waved him off, shaking his head.
"I will,” he said into the phone, one finger held up to keep Combeferre there. “See you later?” He made a face then dropped the phone from his ear. “She hung up,” he explained irritably, but he sighed. “Whatcha need, Momma C?”
“Nothing, if that was what I think it was,” Combeferre replied apologetically. “Are Éponine and Gavroche all right?”
“Yeah,” Courfeyrac answered. “I guess. Gavroche’ll be at the next meeting, in any case, driven by moi.” Combeferre hesitated.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Courfeyrac gave him an odd look.
“I’m fine,” he said slowly. “But thanks for asking.” He seemed to be wavering, but then the door to Musain’s swung open and out poured a crowd of their friends. Bahorel, Joly and Bossuet, cracking up over Bossuet’s latest tale of misfortune and woe; Feuilly and Bahorel, arguing good-naturedly about soccer (“It’s football,” Feuilly would rebuke him dolefully. “Not soccer, Combeferre, football”); and lastly, Cosette and Jehan, both flushed pink and grinning.
“Okay, okay, tonight, Downton Abbey marathon – ”
“And I will make scones – ”
“And I have the tea covered, believe me – hold on, I’ll catch up to you in a sec.”
Jehan jogged after Bahorel. Cosette lingered behind.
“Will you do me a favor and let Marius know I need to cancel our lunch plans when you see him?” she asked Courfeyrac. “I’ve tried texting him and calling him, but he won’t respond.”
“Pontmercy does not know how a phone works,” Courfeyrac replied. “I gotcha. No worries.”
“Thanks, Courf,” Cosette chirruped, and after pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and shooting Combeferre a smile so infectious he couldn’t help but smile back, she ran off, long hair trailing behind her. Courfeyrac waved, but he seemed troublingly distant.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Combeferre asked. His friend rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Mom,” he teased, but the hand that clutched his phone was white-knuckled. Combeferre wasn’t sure if Courfeyrac realized it. “I’ll see you later – I’m going to go track down Pontmercy. Everything’s fine,” he added when Combeferre shot him a look. “We’ve got a protest in a week, worry about that if you have to worry about something.”
“He has a point,” a voice said dryly behind him. Enjolras, wrapping a scarf around his neck, joined them. “One week. I hope we’re ready.” Courfeyrac slung an arm around their fearless leader’s neck, hooking Combeferre in with his other one. Enjolras, slighter than Courfeyrac, bore this with a kind of resigned patience; Combeferre, who’d hit six-one junior year, had to stoop.
“Guys, everything is going to be fine,” Courfeyrac assured them both doggedly. “We’re all focused – even R, once he shuts up – and we’re all ready to go.”
Combeferre would later remark that it only took two days to prove Courfeyrac wrong.