wings_of_a_swan | A Delicate Inquiry

Combeferre feels very awkward as he makes his way to Valjean's room with a tray.

He didn't know what Valjean likes to eat, so he he'd settled for the simplest: bread, eggs, milk, coffee, some fruit. Combeferre had considered first asking Valjean whether he had eaten or not, and then asking him what he liked to eat.

But, on reflection, Combeferre had decided that the answer to the first question was very likely to be "no," if Hugo's account and the evidence of Combeferre's own diagnostic eye had any weight at all. And Combeferre knew Valjean wasn't going to give him a forthright answer to the second question.

Very likely the unfortunate old man would simply respond to such a query by speaking more about his daughter.

If confronted with an actual tray, however, Valjean might eat out of sheer politeness. Combeferre would take that. He could not heal Valjean's soul; he could only, at most, prevent Valjean from accidentally harming Enjolras's body via starvation or other neglect, while absorbed in grief.

Combeferre reaches the room door, takes a deep breath, and raps sharply. "M. Valjean? It's Combeferre."

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Combeferre is almost ready to shout from frustration. He now understands why, several months ago, Enjolras came back from a conversation with Valjean looking exhausted.

(It's all the more disturbing that Valjean wears Enjolras's face while speaking these miserable, beaten words).

"Marius's aunt will not love Mme Pontmercy as her father does, nor will the staff. And the strongest lady might have need of her father's love. Monsieur," he says, leaning forward earnestly, "your love for her is so plain and so deep. Why deny her that? Out of a small, thin fear, which you yourself have acknowledged is unlikely to come true? And, perhaps, out of your unwarranted sense of self-blame--wholly unwarranted, monsieur, for I know you to be among the best of men, I know it from Enjolras and from Victor Hugo and from the evidence of my own eyes at the barricade. You think your daughter would agree with this blame, but I can tell you, no rational soul would, let alone a generous and affectionate one. That fear and blame needn't rob you and your daughter of the further joy you might bring each other. Or the protection you might give her."

He takes a deep breath. "Forgive me, I know I'm speaking out of turn. But I cannot watch a man so grievously wound himself, and his daughter, without saying something about it." Combeferre gestures at the half-eaten food. "At least eat something, and consider what I've said, if you will not agree to it here and now."

He wants to badly to believe this is true. That Cosette would not care, and love him anyway. But does he have any right to that love? And then there is the Baron, who made it clear that he would not be so accepting.

'Monsieur, she has a husband who knows the truth, and he is the master of their house.'

It is the only allusion he will make to Marius's reaction.

'And I do still see her - every day, for a little while. But I will consider what you have said.'

He will, too. For a while. But he has wrestled with this problem over and over again before taking the decisions he has, and there is only so much he can torture himself with things that now, cannot be changed.

It's allusion enough for Combeferre. His brow furrows. "What did Marius say to you? That--"

He breaks off. "Monsieur, please don't let young Marius and his misguided notions banish you from your daughter's house. If he's the master of their house, she is its mistress, and surely deserves a say. You say you see her daily--well and good, please don't let him change that." He sighs, and gestures at the food again. "And please, eat, if you will."

He thinks Marius has the right to change that if he likes - indeed, he did say that he did not think Valjean should come any more, and only changed his mind when he had begged.

'The Baron is a good young man.'

He lets him come to the house. He is the best of men.

'I will finish it later, monsieur, I have little appetite just now. You need not worry about your friend's body, I will not let it waste away.'

The Baron is a good young man. Combeferre ardently wishes he could have a brief but emphatic conversation the good young man. Was Hugo accurate in how he depicted Marius? It's sounding more and more like it.

"Good," says Combeferre, "but not infallible, and capable of grievous, tragic error, like any man." Perhaps he should leave it at that? It sounds like Valjean has listened, at least, even if he hasn't been moved yet.

At Valjean's last words, he frowns. Well. He can hardly stand over Valjean like a nursemaid, watching while the old man eats, bite by bite. "Very well," Combeferre says. "Please do finish it, monsieur. And if it's not an imposition, may I call on you in a few hours? To see if you're experiencing any ill effects of the body change."

...and to see if he's eaten. The role of nursemaid does not suit Combeferre, but apparently someone must assume it.

'If it please you, Combeferre.'

He sounds tired, and as if he simply cannot trouble himself to object. He does not believe there are going to be any ill effects of the swap - indeed, he is sure it is a ruse - but if it is an imposition then he does not let it show.

'It is good of you to check. I am sure all will be well.'

He knows Valjean likely sees through his ruse. But as he'd hoped, Valjean's acquiescence extends to allowing Combeferre's excuse to stand.

"Good day, then," Combeferre says awkwardly. He rises, gives a slight bow, and leaves the room, feeling like he's just done battle with a brick wall.

[ooc: wrap here? gah, Valjean! :D]

[OOC: Yep, allgood! <3 Combeferre. :D]

A Delicate Inquiry

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