In which there is a bit of quiet time

[wings_of_a_swan]

Enjolras is in room number 89, which seems appropriate.

The room itself is decorated, or rather not decorated, in much the same way that Enjolras's rooms in Paris were. Though with rather fewer candles. And no stove, yet it's a perfectly comfortable temperature--is it spring or summer here? Is it always spring or summer here?

Combeferre takes in the window, the books scattered here and there, the walls bare except for the Declaration of the Rights of Man--and a flag. A red flag, with holes and stains that could only be blood.

The barricade's flag.

Combeferre blinks hard, and looks away. If he weeps now, it won't be quiet sobs and tears, but the sort of howls that would frighten the neighbors, if there are neighbors. And if they are capable of emotions like fear.

He turns to see Enjolras looking at him. He suspects Enjolras is worried. Combeferre wants to reassure him, but it's not so easy to think of how.

"There's nothing to be concerned about, my friend," Combeferre finally says, knowing it's not his best effort. "After all," he adds drily, "we're both dead. What more can happen?"

Comments

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre is still smiling. He finds it hard to look at Courfeyrac's face and do otherwise.

The glow of joy remains even when Courfeyrac mentions arrest. "Who arrested them?" To be sure, Bahorel being arrested need not reflect poorly on whoever did the arresting, and for a different reason the same holds true for Bossuet. Bahorel is perfectly capable of deliberately breaking a just law purely for the fun of the ensuing arrest, and Bossuet is perfectly capable of getting caught red-handed at a crime of which he is wholly innocent. Even so--Combeferre has just seen them both killed, and protectiveness flares easily within him.

"And I to see him." He hears Joly's voice again: "Consider the cat." Good cheer and good sense (of a kind), even when faced with the worst. His absence is suddenly unbearable. "How soon can that be? I will not be going back to sleep, not for a long while."

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras steps closer to press both their shoulders affectionately, and fervently.

Every friend here is dear to him. Every one of them irreplaceable. But to have these two men together before him again, to stand with them in a quiet room and see them whole and smiling, settles an old ache deep inside of him.

"Only overnight. It's a longer story, and worth telling, but they're both fine. Bahorel will make a better story of it."

There are reasons he said not a bad place and not a good place, a sufficient world. It's worth telling, and not just as an amusing story. But it needs more background about Milliways to be explained properly, and that's the important part: everyone is well. Arrest in their own would could mean something as mild as that (albeit with less comfortable beds), or a variety of far worse options.

"I sent messages telling them all you were here, and sleeping, and to come in two hours or so." He's smiling -- he's been smiling, and couldn't restrain it if he wished, right now -- but the expression shifts with a little more amusement. Two hours, ten minutes, what's the difference. "Only a few minutes ago. We could wait, or go looking, or send other notes on their heels. The last is likely the most sensible."

In Combeferre's place, he would be ready to go rushing through the halls, and pound on doors until he found his friends. But in his own place, now, looking at Combeferre with new excitement buoying him over the exhaustion that's still present, he thinks that staying in one place is probably the kinder option.

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre notes what Enjolras says, and does not say, about the arrest. With Enjolras every word and every silence is deliberate and communicative. It's still not enough to make Combeferre somber--not with Enjolras and Courfeyrac standing right there, not with the three of them reunited. But it's enough to make him understand that there are even more questions to ask than he'd thought.

"Far be it from me to deny Bahorel the chance to entertain us."

Combeferre isn't feeling very sensible at the moment, and is entirely on the side of rushing through halls and pounding on doors. There's only one consideration that makes him pause. "Which would be fastest, sending them notes or going looking?" He looks from Enjolras to Courfeyrac, feeling a bit at sea in this world they know, a world in which he wouldn't even know how to start looking for his other friends.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras glances at Courfeyrac. Does he know precisely where the others are just now? Evidently not.

"It depends on whether they're in their rooms or elsewhere."

Hmm.

Well. Combeferre wants speed, and their friends -- and, Enjolras suspects, wants to be doing something, and not merely sitting and waiting. If he'd rather that than sleep, Enjolras is not going to gainsay him. Combeferre is at liberty to make his own choices.

He smiles faintly, in abrupt decision, and squeezes Combeferre's shoulder before letting go. "Let's go to Joly and Bossuet's room, then. At least one of them will likely be in. We can send the others notes from there."

(Enjolras may be one of the few people in this world capable of forgetting about the décor of that room.)

[wings_of_a_swan]

"That sounds like an excellent plan," says Combeferre, who is accustomed to the full exercise of his liberty to sleep only as much as his body aggressively insists on.

He looks again from Enjolras to Courfeyrac. There is such enormous joy in having these two men with him once more. Enjolras with all his inspiration, and Courfeyrac with all his warmth, are enough to make Combeferre feel like himself once more. Combeferre does not know how it will feel once he has reunited with all of his dear friends who have arrived in this strange place, but he knows he wants to find out as soon as possible.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Well then.

Enjolras smiles once more at them both, and then turns to retrieve the jacket he shed for candlelit note-writing.

(This might also be by way of a subtle reminder to Combeferre that he might, perhaps, wish to change back out of the nightshirt.)

[wings_of_a_swan]

Oh, yes. That.

Combeferre turns away to hastily pull his proper clothes back on.

Once finished, he turns back to his friends. "Shall we?"

[le_centre]

Courfeyrac laughs giddily, jumps between them and flings one arm around each of their shoulders.

'We shall! Onward, dear friends. You shall not be denied the pleasures of the Blue Room any longer - we will meet under the cherubs, and you shall be as scarred by them as the rest of us.'

If this makes no sense at all to Combeferre...well, it will. Very soon.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

In answer to Combeferre's confused look, Enjolras says, "The décor is very..."

Describing interior decoration is very much not his strong point. He finishes after a moment, rather helplessly, with "There are cherubs. The room is very blue."

That doubtless doesn't explain it properly, but we have now exhausted Enjolras's ability to describe a room's aesthetic impression. (If Combeferre wanted a tactical assessment of its defensibility, he could provide that in much more detail.) But Courfeyrac seems to be anticipating the surprise, and at any rate Combeferre will see it for himself shortly.

It's a little crowded to walk three abreast down a Milliways hallway, but entirely achievable. And soon, they're knocking at Joly and Bossuet's door.

[merryeccentricities]

Joly's at the door already-- on the other side. And up a ladder. And carrying a box of decorations in one hand and trying to hang a wreath with the other and warning kittens away when he can be bothered.

The knock makes him jump a bit.

Those on the other side of the door will hear a series of subdued crashes, a sharp "mew!" or two of protest answered by muffled apologies, and the sound of a ladder and a few boxes of ornaments being shoved quickly out of the way.

Joly doesn't bother to take the tinsel out of his hair before opening the door, with a friendly smile and the beginnings of an apology for taking so long. And then he sees who's at the door. He beams, and absolutely throws himself at Combeferre, hugging him tightly before pulling back to study his face.

"You're here! You made it! We were wondering who'd come next, of course we knew you would, have they told you about the library?" He laughs, and rubs his eyes, and moves to pull them all into the apartment. "Come in, come in!--Mind the kittens, and the ornaments, sorry, Christmas coming, you know, oh, I'm so glad you made it in time though! Have you seen the infirmary? Of course not,what am I thinking, but oh, Combeferre, you'll be amazed! It's wonderful! Do any of you want a drink or--? Ah, sit wherever you like, the furniture is...solid..." he never quite knows what to say about the decor. "Do Bossuet and Bahorel know yet?"

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

The rats are fast messengers. By the time Joly asks, Bahorel and Bossuet do indeed know, and it's not many minutes before they're at the door.

Bossuet has a certain calm that generally means he's very drunk, but there's nothing unusual about that condition; and the brightness of his eyes when he sees Combeferre and pulls him into a hug comes not from liquor but from affection.

[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel, meanwhile, has a couple of bottles along to ensure that everyone can get happily drunk, if they want to. He sets them down before swooping Combeferre into rough hug, letting him go with a light shake.

"Finally showing up? You realize I'm in the lecture-hall before you, this must not happen again, we shall both lose our reputations."

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre sees the bottles and realizes again that he's already feeling woozy from lack of sleep, but what does that matter? Bahorel is here and boisterous and laughing, and that makes worrying about anything, especially something petty like sleep, almost impossible. "You've become staid in your old age," Combeferre says as he claps Bahorel's shoulder, "and you've set me a good example by arriving early. How kind of you."

[wings_of_a_swan]

Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Joly, and now Bossuet--Bossuet, hale and bright-eyed and unhurt. Combeferre fears he is in danger of a very Romantic death (well, re-death, if such a thing is possible) from emotional extremes, first the heartbreak of the barricade, and now this joy that renders him almost incapable of speech.

Almost. "You were right about the Bar," Combeferre says, while still hugging Bossuet. "I thought that was wishful thinking, but apparently not. It is--" No, he's not going to start weeping again, he won't allow it. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "It's indescribably good to see you again."

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre is unsurprised to hear a kitten inside the room of Joly and Bossuet.

Make that multiple kittens, plus Joly--Combeferre only has time to grin like a fool in greeting before he's swept into Joly's hug. He hugs back fiercely, letting Joly ramble without interruption until his last question.

"They should know soon, if they don't already. Enjolras said he sent some sort of message. And no, I haven't seen the infirmary yet. I must see it as soon as possible--it must be marvelous, if it's like the rest of this place--" By Joly's smile, Combeferre can tell he's been aching to have someone to properly share the wonders of the infirmary with. Combeferre interrupts himself to pull Joly into another embrace. "You might have been certain we would see each other again, my friend, but I wasn't."

Stepping back, Combeferre looks around the room. Enjolras was, as always, absolutely accurate. There are cherubs, and it is very blue.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

During all of this -- Joly's rush of joyful babble, Bossuet and Bahorel's arrival, the hugs and the banter and the occasional relocation of a confused kitten -- Enjolras has settled himself on one of the couches, out of the way, to watch the proceedings.

And, quietly, to rejoice in them.

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre, surrounded by the others, catches Enjolras's eye and smiles again, or maybe the smile he already has grows wider, or something. If this isn't heaven in the strict metaphysical sense, Combeferre doesn't care. It far exceeds any celestial happiness he could imagine.

[le_centre]

And Courfeyrac flings himself down next to Enjolras, also to watch, and to allow the sheer relief to settle.

They are nearly whole. All of them, nearly whole.

He will get heartily drunk on Bahorel's bottles in just a few moments. But for now, he rests his head briefly on Enjolras' shoulder, and just grins at Combeferre, at Joly's enthusiasm and Bossuet's drunkenness. At all of them; nearly, nearly whole.