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CHARACTERS: Combeferre, Jehan.
LOCATION: Combeferre's room ~~of horrors~~
WARNINGS: 200 year old spoilers. Some mention of death. Mostly going to be harmless, though!
SUMMARY: Combeferre offered to be a sounding board, and is being taken up on the offer.
NOTES: ITT: The future is hard.

[As he had made a habit, since his return, of paying Combeferre visits now and again; mostly for the benefit of picking up the novels he had offered, and occasionally on a call for discussing them; his absence would not be much minded in his room. It had become a less sensitive topic as days wore on, but as he didn't want to expressly trouble or unnerve anyone, he limited any forays onto the ship to the kitchens, and to Bahorel or Combeferre's rooms.

But, with the jump coming up no doubt soon, and an itching for the garden just under his skin and burning, Jehan made the decision to... move forward. There was something he did not want to do, but still ought to, if he was to trust himself to wandering again. And only one man had offered to be of assistance with that.

Not that he minded that it would be Combeferre. Quite the opposite; he found himself comfortable in his company, and it was easier to talk to him than most, after the man's own 'incident'.

Therefore, with an uncomfortable air that he tried to contain, and his mind set on doing this before it did itself in, he picked up a hand and knocked on his door.]

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We were foolish, but it's men who are foolish that move the world.

[He agreed quietly, staying near. When Combeferre reaches around him, he easily curls a hand into the fabric of his shirt to keep him. There has been some gentle, unspoken agreement made between them over these past months, Jehan feels, that allows for such a brotherly form of intimacy. Previously, he had only had it with Bahorel; but in his absence, and in Combeferre's greater role in his life of late, the familiarity had been extended. There were few people he felt so little awkward with, not in the in the capacity of emotion (for he knew most men found him awkward there, and he cared not at all, and it stopped his emotions and his poetry similarly not at all), but in the capacity of physically closeness. Jehan was clumsy and modest, so it was a rare type of friend that would see him reach for a continued contact.]

You... are free to criticize me. How could I disallow it? I was more foolish than anyone, perhaps, and more hypocritical at that. But I could not quite-- ...I could not quite not.

[He decided, with a cringe.

Let them all go, and he stay? Never. He should die a hundred deaths before allowing that. It was the bane of a romantic's soul, to send a friend to fight, or to die, alone. To be dispassionate.]

[He took a breath though, and nodded at those fortifying words. If anything, he could say he suffered almost fairly for what he had done in return, his own shots fired. For as he would not have let anyone die alone if it was in his realm to help it, dying alone had been similarly an indescribably terrible fate. Moreso now that he had time to contemplate it than adrenaline and bravery had allowed in the moment.]

It soothes me to know that you tried, Michel. [He admitted. It had not been on his mind at the time, that they would. Granted, he had also not quite expected such a roughness and quickness to it either. Admittedly, he had not had time to think very much at all.] And it soothes me to know that hindsight is cruel, but you and our friends are not, and perhaps in that we might one day forgive ourselves.

[He took a breath, before admitting at nearly a whisper,]

...There is one more thing.

So it is, most times. I know what they say of good intentions and where they lead but I think...well at least we did try something didn't we?

[It may not be enough of a balm to soothe it all for them and it certainly is not for Combeferre, but it does manage to make the sting a little less, as time goes on. As far as staying? He was pleased to stay with Jehan now, touched, really, that he was trusted in such a way. While he had always been tactile himself, or fairly so, especially with the others, this, from Jehan was new, symbolic of the past few months really, and he treasured that he had it now, that despite everything else, as bad as it had been, they had been lead to this. ]

You could not see us fall? After Bahorel? [Combeferre could understand the sentiment there. Such a thing in Jehan's nature, well, he found it difficult to imagine ever being present there.] I understand that I think. At least... well I can never fully know it, but...

[He was at a loss for more on that, for the moment, so he left it there, feeling, well, inadequate certainly, at best, useless at worst.]

Well... It may have been wrong at any rate, for me to have done that the more I consider it, as much as we would have wished to die with you... that would have been condemning you to...

[To the close contact sort of death blows that had sliced through him three times. He shuddered at the memory, in remembered pain, his free hand going to his chest, his gaze suddenly far away. To think of Jehan like that now... no. Not once he had come to know him better. The thought of that much pain inflicted on him... Hardly fitting for anyone, but especially not Jehan.]

I did try. I would have tried for any of you, but I see now that perhaps... Letting the course of events go as they did may have been for the best. Not in leaving you to face that, of course, but as far as later, well.. That hindsight may also have been valuable then.

[He took a moment for some breaths himself, to draw them both away from what had been, though his chest still ached now that they'd come to it in ways it hadn't in remembering any of this, that was hardly the time for this. Something else then. He could tear his mind from phantom pains to what was real and right before him, as he raised a questioning, merely questioning this time, so no worries, eyebrow.]

Oh?

[ooc: Omg! I'm sorry I'm so late, I thought I had replied to this. Kick me next time!! I only realized I hadn't because I used this thread for AC.]

[He let out a low breath, not quite a sigh, but almost... a noise of relief? When Combeferre insisted that he understood. Of course, he would, and that is perhaps why Jehan felt less heavy by telling him. They had not only been through the same thing, but they had come at it from similar standpoints. However they might tease at one another, a poet and a philosopher were similar, and they had both been the pacifists of the group, besides. It seemed that his own death had wounded Combeferre in the deep and visceral way that Bahorel's death had hurt Jehan: in a way that left the burning need to do something, as their minds seemed to have been equally stuck on the fact that nothing could be done to fix it, erase it, somehow offer that which was already dead and gone some form of camaraderie.

He knew Combeferre would understand all of that, from a way the others perhaps could not.

He noticed, of course, when Combeferre suddenly grabbed his own chest in some memory of great pain, and he knew that the frown that crossed over the man's face was as much for his sake as it was for his own. In a way, though he should never wish to be looked after or babied, it was still... comforting. It was comforting to know that his friend had such a desire to protect him, to protect them all, as even extended into this new life, regardless of logic. It was kind.]

There's always much to be seen in hindsight. I'm afraid that's irony's way of having a fruitful existence among men. You did what you could. You did your best. We all did, I am sure... and it was flawed, and so much of it was wrong, and it hurt in ways my mind sometimes fathoms so deeply that I lose the ability to see past it. But it could not have gone any other way. Such is the conflagration of all our personalities, in the growing-pot of Parisian soil.

I do not regret it as a whole, I only-- I only regret it in parts. If that makes any sense. ...Thank you, Combeferre. For listening to me.

[It made him feel better, in some small way, to admit he'd had reservations about the violence, to admit he'd been upset at Combeferre and Enjolras for selling their souls so cheaply before the battle was done, to admit he was upset with himself over what he'd realized was a poor decision, if not outright suicide. That he wondered if what they'd done was right, and if this wasn't a kind of purgatory built around them, for any sins committed. That he was not and could not be like Enjolras; unwavering; or Courfeyrac; finding cheer and company able in time to eclipse pain and memory.

Speaking of which...

Taking a breath, he glanced up, then away just as quickly.]

The other matter... I. It's... about Reynaud. I-- I'm quite at a loss, Combeferre.

[They had come through it in rather similar ways. that much was true. Combeferre's own thoughts on the whole matter were that, well, much as Bahorel had been a blow, Bahorel had been more a blow to their security, to his sense of such. It had meant that things were far different, that they had changed and were never going to be the same, but it was not the sort of thing he had ever believed was within his capacity to fix or change. Bahorel was Bahorel, and a constant presence who he had known that he would miss, but he was also a constant that...had been bound to fall protecting them in some way at some time. He had been grieved, and honored that their friend had done it but...it had been understandable, as awful as it was.

With Jehan, it had all changed things considerably. Jehan was, even if capable of caring for himself, even in such a situation, (truth be told, Combeferre suspected that when it came to a fight, Jehan could lay him out far easier than he would do the same), someone that Combeferre could have, should have been able to help. It was a situation that he could, yes, fix. He'd been so obsessed with fixing things himself, both in life, then at the barricades, and even now, the thought was his first instinct when someone was in trouble. It had been a situation he had grasped the answer to helping, something he had been in the process of working through a solution for, and well, he still was working through the results of his failure there.

If that had translated to an increased desire to look after Jehan here, as he could, well, as long as Jehan tolerated his attempts, it was at least something that he could do even as it did not change the past. It was a path for the future at least, and that was, well it was something. It would not in any way make up for what he'd done, condoned, and failed to do but it would help a bit.]

Ah irony. And yes we did. Some days it feels like eventually that will be something I can know, more than intellectually. Others it is still elusive. But you are right. It was quite flawed, and even wrong, but we still were acting for the greater right of everything. It can be hard to remember that sometimes.

And there are a few things that I regret as well, but...I would do much of it again, those parts removed. I am...so glad that you are here with us, and we can speak about these things. I do not think the others, even Enjolras would understand in the same way.

[And then his attention shifting at that last bit, his glance changed a little, and he looked up, immediately concerned for Courfeyrac too.]

Oh? He's seemed a bit...subdued of late, I've noticed. What's wrong?

[Logically, they had all known Bahorel would go, if any of them did. That he'd almost see it as his place of honour, as the eldest and the boldest and their most protective force. But all the same... all the same, a death so gruesome, in broad daylight? The death of so dear a friend? It was something that no amount of logic could possibly convince Jehan that there shouldn't have been some prevention for, some mercy about. No. Surely not.

Of his own death, he could not say. But by Combeferre's reactions, it seemed that at least one person was as affected as he had been by Bahorel. None of them showed it, of course, on the barricade itself but in small ways; they'd all accepted the terms of battle, and acted as men. However, the part of them that made a group, that bonded them as friends-- well. Perhaps everyone present had been finally shaken by someone or other's death, before meeting their own.

Not a cheerful thought, truth be told. But a loyal one, in its way.]

Perhaps we cannot see it fully in such a light because we are men. But I do imagine that should a woman; say, your mother, or my grandmother, or Reynaud's aunt; were to show up, she might strike the knowledge back into our minds with her purse, for all of the worry we caused, all of the grief. And if she has tears in her eyes while doing so, we shall know we did everything for a great good. And if she does not, we will known we were very flawed in our thinking. Such is a wisdom only women carry.

I am glad to be with you too, all of you. And so grateful. Enjolras is many things, and most of them grand. But this-- no. [Jehan shook his head.] He would not understand it on his own. This it might take a philosopher to explain to him, and not a poet to exude.

[There were many things Enjolras had trouble understanding and yielding to, and Combeferre had always made him see them clearly. Jehan said so because it was true, but also because he thought that little compliment might warm him; he, who admired Enjolras so much, having the reminder of how important he was to that man in return.

When Combeferre returned to the other subject, Jehan drew away and sighed. Reaching into his coat pocket, he took out a bit o folded paper and set it on his knee, smoothing it out. There were poems crossed out (not very good, from what was visible still) and then the words 'I love you.' This, he held up to Combeferre to inspect.]

Nothing is wrong... perhaps. It's-- this. He. Well. [Voice faltering a bit, halfway sheepishly flattered and halfway seriously concerned.] While I was 'away'. He wrote many things, and this one he gave to me when I was back.

I.. I did not mean to frighten him into greater emotions.

[Jehan had a tendency to get attached, and to fawn; in the way poets did; over a loved one. He did not wish to become seriously attached to Courfeyrac (too late, perhaps) and unbearable about it, and suffocate him and drive him to dislike. But that was difficult, when he had said these words. Jehan felt very much in fear of taking them seriously, when it seemed they might just be a product of Courfeyrac's worry.]

Edited 2013-08-31 20:54 (UTC)

Musichetta. [Is Combeferre's rather single word connection to that bit. He can well imagine that being her somehow, from the rare occasions that they'd met. He could very easily imagine it, both the striking with the purse, and the tears.] Though I would hope for L'aigle's sake that she concentrate those on our dear Joly instead. But yes, I think you have the way of it. And I think that most of them...they would do it as such.

Enjolras is...my dearest friend but no. Even he has his limits. Perhaps because he is so grand, it becomes more difficult to return him to Earth sometimes. [It's an observation he's made many times, so Combeferre does not exactly feel any disloyalty or love him the less for that, which should be clear, really by the fond little smile on his face.

As for the matter of Courfeyrac... Combeferre glanced at the paper, and the poems, raising an eyebrow at them, though he smiled at the 'I love you'.]

It would seem that you've done more than turn his head if you've inspired such! [He starts out lightly, then turns a bit more serious as Jehan continues there.]

I do not think you fightened him persay. I think he's understood his heart at last perhaps. Found where it belongs. I...this is a new development for him, I know. But I do not think he did it out of fear. Perhaps being apart from you made him realize...you have been so much a large part of his life since we came here. Simply being without you, even before the fear would surely cause such a thing as this realization I would think. He loves you, Jehan. He truly does. I have seen him with you,and without you, and he was terrified, yes, but there is more to it than that. He is motivated by far more than fear of losing you now. The two CAN be conflated but...I hardly think in Courfeyrac... He cares for people easily, but hislove is something else. I cannot think that even in that state...that he would say something that he did not truly mean. He does not confuse or conflate serious things like that.

Truly, I think he loves you.

Edited 2013-08-31 21:10 (UTC)

I would loathe to see either L'aigle or Joly being hit with their lady's purse; a lover's strike is always softer by nature, but wounds deeper by art. She might aim for Joly and find L'aigle quite by accident-- and then all would be right with this place.

[For more friends and dear faces would be aboard it, Bossuet's with a requisite bruise and Joly suffering a panic about a cold born from the chilly wind of a purse passing by his face. He couldn't help but smile a little, despite the heavy topic, at the thought.]

Of course. You put it well. More angel than man, but even angels need men, to give them purpose and connect to them by their very goodness of soul You do your angel well, my friend.

[When Combeferre spoke of Courfeyrac next, though, he went a bit quiet, smoothing out the paper nervously, listening to him and tapping the edge of his foot very lightly as he did so. It was a difficult topic, as he did not wish to insult Courfeyrac-- his loyalty or his feelings-- any more than he wished to hope too fiercely and become too greatly bound.]

...Were that I could speak to anyone else, I might. I'm sorry to burden you.

[Began. Because even though Michel had offered, this seemed rather a lot to come to one man with. Jehan wasn't one to do this very much anyway, preferring to synthesize his own thoughts in his own time, but, well.

Two weeks alone with his own thoughts and he wanted nothing more to do with them, very nearly.]

I do know that we are all changed here. Death teaches us much of life, and loss teaches us much of our gains. Being so outdated, we better appreciate that which we understand; each other. All of this creates a deeper friendship between all of us; where it was already such a depth!; in a natural manner. I do not doubt that he loves me anymore than I doubt that he loves you, or Marius. I just...

[A pause, and then he gave almost a little huff.]

I don't know. Perhaps it is because there is such a small selection on board this ship, or because I tended him while he was in a low state, or any number of reasons. I fear-- I fear his emotions may be fragile, is what I wish to say, whereas mine are robust. His are playful; tender and carefree and honest, but shifting, much like a child. Mine are... well. A good deal more like gravity. Very difficult to get away from, once you have understood them.

[Another sigh, and he stopped skirting the topic.]

In short, I do not doubt him. But I... what if he were to change his mind? I doubt that I can keep the interest of such a creature, and the problem is that I love him too.

[Because, you know, leave it to a tragic romantic poet to view this as a problem.]

So it would. [Combeferre has to agree with the mental image he's being given there.] It does seem even likely, doesn't it? When it happens eventually, we shall look back at each other and just laugh, won't we? I would not say that he is really mine, but all of ours though. Nonetheless...I do try to do what I can. [For all of them, really, though it seems still like his focus is a bit too much on Enjolras, and less on the others who might need him. Which leads, well, to this current situation, doesn't it? He'll make more of an effort, he decides. ]

You are never a burden, either one of you, Jehan. Please never think that. You have helped me with far more than your fair share of my own. Please. Never think that I am not at your disposal when it comes to that. You do not come to others often, I know that, but it is no weakness that you do so now. [And he's reaching to put a hand over Jehan's in a gesture of friendship, reminiscent, without meaning to be, of their clasped hands at the barricade. He hoped that it might be some kind of a comfort now, even if he did not know what to say that would work here to repair things, exactly.]

A deeper friendship, yes, for all of us. I think we needed it in part. It's helped us, me at least, that the understanding is there.

But as for you and Courfeyrac...

[And Combeferre is left to wonder, really wonder, what it is like to be in love, in such an active way. As much as he cares for Enjolras, and would welcome more, he knows damned well that he has no experience in being part of a pair that returns each other's feelings so deeply. His own experiences, one mistress, when he first came to Paris, a young man from the bookshop who was much more of a friend who he occasionally went further with, a classmate, for a few months, they have all been either unbalanced, or based more on convenience than anything else. It makes him feel, well, rather less than capable of coming to a decent understanding or explanation.]

Jehan. Is it so impossible to think that you could be loved by someone in that way? You, of all people? Why should it not be you who Courfeyrac realizes that he loves? You are amazingly intelligent, and kind, and understand things beyond what many of us ever will. You could do with looking in the mirror before you go out.[And that part is said teasingly, without anything behind it but a light tone] but you are good looking as well.

Are those not reasons that you could keep Courfeyrac's interest on your own? I know you do not doubt him now, but it seems as if you start to doubt yourself by some of this. You should not. You are quite well equipped for being loved by someone, even someone who may pretend that things are playful but I should think you would have nothing to be concerned for. He loves you and you are worthy of that love. I would suggest thinking of that.

'Ours' includes 'yours', do not pale from it.

[Jehan insisted. And perhaps he was more resolute in his language now, as language was a powerful thing. He rooted for Combeferre, even if he could predict no outcome. As it was, he stood by what he had already said: that in having what he had of Enjolras, Combeferre had more than any other man.

When the hand clasped over his own, he gave it a gentle, warm squeeze and nodded at his words. He was not ashamed of his feelings, or of debating them publicly, only of putting a burden on a friend who had enough of his own, or worse, troubling him. This he had not wanted to do, but everyone had their limits. Being lost for a week had pushed Jehan well beyond those limits, and he could not help the inward collapse.]

Thank you. Your kindness in this has been indispensable. I do feel a bit better, and I will mull your words carefully, and remember them, should the density of it all become too great again.

[He was grateful, too, for the element of deeper friendship. He'd always thought them all quite close, but he knew he was on the periphery of that closeness. That was nothing to a writer, nothing to someone who liked to wander, and think, and fill themselves with feelings of a million different natures and times, who had a home to return to in the South, and some little family, and who was in love with a pretty someone they barely spoke, with and who had nearer friends in Paris, such as Bahorel. But on board this ship? With only dour thoughts, and nowhere to go? Shakily and secretly in love, far from home, with only the very best of friends all together? That might have made him feel left out in a way he would not have blamed any of them for-- but he hadn't. Those deeper friendships, and indeed, that affair (though no longer 'shaky', it would seem) cemented that he could not. They had been very good to him, he felt.

Though as Combeferre continued to be more directly good to him now; naming off traits he felt were admirable; Jehan sank into his shirt collar, turned a violent shade of pink by degrees, and wished he could evaporate into his coat.

Panic alone kept him quite alert! For he was afraid, now, that perhaps he had made it sound as if he were fishing after compliments? Practically groaning, he shook his head.]

That-- you really think too much of me. I am no more intelligent than you, no more kind than he, understand no better than our elder, Bahorel. I am not nearly as good-looking as Enjolras, and I thank you for your advice regarding mirrors, but I do not need the daily reminder of how I look; I think I can recall it, and I have eyes to see my clothes with before I put them on.

[Managed to tease in return, but his voice was small; sheepish and nervous. It had lost the lilt to it of when he spoke on a subject he knew well; and tragedy was that; and took on the guise it wore in any other matter.

Especially clandestine romances that involved himself.]

...I cannot say you are altogether incorrect, though. I do fail to see where I could be more tempting than any other, far better suitor of any other time. Again, I know that he does-- [here, once more, he smoothed out the paper, pausing to give it a brief, affectionate stare.] --love me. But I am concerned, I suppose, that he sells himself short, or too quickly, because of what we know of our death, and the impermanence of this ship. I worry because I love him, and so much that you cannot imagine Michel. [Which, of course, Michel probably could, but Jehan had once again hit a subject he knew and had gathered speed and energy in his rambling.] I worry because the thought of sharing him, or losing him, or even-- I admit with utmost embarrassment-- insisting he stay the night in yours, or Enjolras' rooms again fills me with a pain so acute that if he knew it, I think he'd assume I was mad. But I am a poor liar, and he will know it. ...Do you truly think he-- we-- are making a wise choice?

[Jehan trusted feelings on the whole. But he felt that if wisdom gave emotion its blessing, he would no longer need to worry.]

Would he mind it though, do you suppose, if I were to say to that to his face. I can, after all, hardly own Enjolras, though yes, in those most important ways, I suppose that he already IS mine, truly as much as he could belong to anyone.

[That was comforting, and comfortable enough, truly, and then Jehan was squeezing his hand, and he was returning the smile.] Please do think on them, yes. I do not know if they will do any good in the long run, but...they are based more on what I know.

[They had been good to Jehan? Ah but who, in his turn had been good to them, especially to Combeferre when he'd had need of it? Which of them was he closest to here these days besides Enjolras? The answer was too easy. It was only natural that they be good to Jehan in return, now wasn't it?]

[He had to laugh, somewhat amused, as Jehan started turning colors there. And here he had been so careful to avoid overly flattering him too.]

I do not think too much of you at all. I only tell the truth. You are kind, intelligent, and while Bahorel knows things too, you combine all of those into something different, something that is altogether you. As for whether you are tempting...

I do not think that Courfeyrac is selling himself short in choosing you. I think that he is growing up here, realizing the things that matter to him. They would matter had they happened here, or had they happened at home. If those things that he sees in you now that he's had the chance are among what he values...it only makes sense he values, and loves you. So many things would have changed, had we lived as well as died. It's often in those moments, isn't it, when Hell is at the door that we come to know both what we want, and what we are. He is something of a new person here. We all are. We were baptised in blood before we left that world, and started here anew. That applies to both you and him and I see nothing foolish about being a part of this, understanding that things have changed and are not truly bad.

I know that none of us can say how things will go, but yes, the two of you are a wise choice to me. Good for each other even, if you'll let yourselves be. You understand the most important things already in each other. I think the rest of it, the trust that you are the right one for him...it's also going to come in time. But you are going to need to be open to that. Are you?

Well, I might not advise to walk directly to him and say, 'Ah! But you are our angel, and my angel, and I own you.'

[There was a mischief in his eyes, just briefly, as he glanced up at Combeferre.]

But to say to a friend that he is all of ours, because he has imbued us with his spirit, and that that includes you? Why, you may make him blush even, but I doubt such a truth would bring him anything but pleasure. Surely, every friend and-- I should say even-- every man or angel desires positive recognition from those they love. Ownership? Indeed not. Perhaps you took that idea from the same place you fathomed the one about leashing people?

[Here, he arched a brow at him: evidence that they had been spending too much time together, of late. He nearly had the look down.

On the matter of Courfeyrac again, he made great sense, and by the end of it, Jehan looked some combination of affronted and desperate, as if he was not sure if he'd been insulted or found out. That was to say... on the one hand, he wanted to rebel entirely, with his whole soul, against the idea that he might not think them a lasting or true fit. He believed very strongly in love, and was known to become infatuated in his quiet ways, and stuck to that infatuation with a loyalty that was almost, at times, a bit pathetic. Granted, besides a few young romances parted by distance, such infatuations were one-sided. In Paris, mess that it was, they were carried on in the usual manner that poets preferred: glances, that sustained muses of feelings, that sustained emotional connection, that sustained writing. But truth be told... truth be told, perhaps he was not so different than Courfeyrac. He was very young, and had never fully enlisted in a real, lasting romance either. He wrote about it, and read extensively about it, and by his very nature in the art of it supposedly pined after it. But that was just the thing... the act of pining, one might say, was to Jehan as love-making was to Courfeyrac; addictive, normative, and almost expected of him.

Maybe he had also doubted his ability to go beyond that.

But after a moment's faltering, he suddenly looked very stalwart; almost violently so.]

Absolutely. Absolutely, I do think so, because-- because I do not care if it is immodest, but I think he is very happy, very at ease when he is with me and that brings me unspeakable joy. I know that I am at my gladdest when I am with him, and while I will spare you any limericks on the matter, I daresay that we have all grown, and are fresh, and new, and becoming something else. And whatever he has become, I adore it, and so I must trust that it I will not ruin it, because I too much enjoy the way he sighs over my terrible clothes, and gets crumbs on the sheets, and laughs like music at a tempo too fast.

[SO THERE.]

[Combeferre tried not to meet his eyes at that because he knew that he would snicker if he did, but well, losing battles, and all of that. He glanced at Jehan, and then did catch himself laughing, just a little.]

I suppose that you ARE right. Not so much the owning bit perhaps, but telling him those other things? It would be well worth it so he knows, perhaps. I think that Enjolras often sells himself short too, so for that reason alone. As for the leashes? Enjolras is not the one who strayed, now is he?

[~~Oh in a few weeks time, this part of the conversation will be incredibly amusing. To some of them.~~ Watching Jehan's face through this was interesting. He would have asked what the poet was thinking, but, well, it felt a bit rude to intrude that way. He could guess at least, and then, when it seemed settled, he smiled at the poet's face. There he was. Intrepid.]

I think that he is very happy too. I...have seen Courfeyrac laugh, and smile, as you say but it is deeper now. The emotions ring...truer I think? If I were going to guess at it that's what I'd say. And you two clearly are, whatever you've become, in love and love the people you're becoming as well as who you already were.

I think it may be because of that. That I have often been a bit...intrusive in your romantic endeavors since we arrived. It's good to watch and see that.

And THAT is why you dress yourself as you do. At last! The truth!

Edited 2013-09-03 00:46 (UTC)

He does sell himself short, I have wont to have noticed. Or, rather-- he does not sell himself at all, for he sees the values in ideas and the worth of change and entirely forgets to value himself, in the process. It is not so much that he looks at himself and cringes and sets the bar low, as Grantaire does, but that he does not look at all, too busy otherwise.

[At least, this is Jehan's impression. As for leashes;]

Ah! So you only put to the collar those who stray? How like a scientist. All minds that wander must be shackled to a single concept, for protection.

[Teased, trying not to smile at his edges; and failing helplessly.

Though yes, there it was. Intrepid indeed.]

You speak it so well, you must truly have taken notice of us. And I am grateful of it, and for your opinion as his dear friend who knows him, and as mine who would council me. When you are so absolutely consumed; as I must admit I am; by warm feelings, your fretting becomes deeper when you fret, and your joy becomes larger when you're cheerful, and everything is distorted by these measures. I feared a distortion. But gratefully, it seems there is none. Then, it is so; we are very much in love with one another.

[He took a breath, and his smile came a little easier than it had in... well, weeks maybe.

Until he coloured and shrugged his shoulders up at the comment on how he dressed.]

What-? No. That is not why I dress like this, I simply-- I simply do dress like this, for... for no other reason. [But the way he stammered, a little worse than usual, and the particularly violent shade of pink on his cheeks might say otherwise.] What is so wrong with it? No, no; pray, upon second thought, don't answer. All of you, such experts on fashions... I am hopeless, and cannot keep up.

[At least Albert thought well of how he dressed.

And really now. Was it such sinister logic, to dress a little more badly than usual, if it meant a bit of tucking and primping and general occasions for public contact that would seem natural to Courfeyrac's personality? He had not expected anyone to notice, thank you!]

[Comebeferre is nodding at that part,certainly.] You put that well. He does not often notice himself, not for others, I do not think. Too busy for that indeed when there are others about, I would think.

Indeed. Though minds may wander as they like, but bodies may find danger when they do such a thing. It is meant for protection more than anything else, truly, I should think. [Somehow, he is managing not to laugh too much at this. ]

Indeed, I truly HAVE taken notice of this and am glad to do both things. That excess of feeling does you credit,overwhelming though it must be. But I am glad for both of you there is no distortion. You, both of you, deserve to find happiness. That you have it with each other is amazing, and you already share so much. That IS quite worthwhile.

You simply do dress like it. [Combeferre can't help but smirk a little there.] I suppose it still gives you an advantage when it comes to Courfeyrac though, which is smart. A plot worthy of him, I should say. There IS that at least.

Minds wandering can be much more dangerous than bodies wandering; hence the battle for control of minds has led to the death of bodies in many wars over the years.

[He reminded, almost a bit imperiously, plucky from the current topics at hand. It revived him from the previous depth of his pain well, if not entirely; rousing, though not curative.]

We might all be accused of an excess of feeling... but I suppose I never have seen anything wrong with it, or that it lessens anyone's manliness, or fortitude, to be in such a way. Thank you, then. I place my faith in such things with your blessing.

Ah! You say that, but you grin at me cruelly. [He shifted, embarrassed.] ...Is there any harm in such a 'plot', if I admit that some of the carelessness is played up for just that reason? Terrible, that you would call it what it is and fluster me like this...

[And he is flustered. No one is surprised.]

So it has. And that continues to be the trend, I fear. Another thing that is a universal that I would have wished to see changed for the future, perhaps, but...it is hardly surprising as that.

[His radiation obsession does come to mind here, but he's not going to bring that up for the moment, thank you. He has no wish to disturb Jehan in such a way again. The ramifications of how the threat was used though...Very real psychological wars were fought over the issue even though the actual end of the world never came. It's an interesting tactic.]

No, no it does not lessen anything the way you put it. Strengthens it perhaps, instead. Why else does one press on against the odds if they are not granted that strength by something? I think your faith well placed indeed.

I grin in amusement perhaps, but surely not to be cruel to you. I do not see much harm at all. I think it quite cleverly done in fact, if it works. And... [He's already ducking a little, before he says what he is thinking next.] Really, who among us would note the difference?

Of course I fluster. That is my TASK in this. Self appointed, though it may be, I do take it quite seriously.

Men call themselves progressive because they easily forget the past, and ridicule it when they think to remember it. One wonders if men ever think, in their time, of being obsolete in the future and being told that their strides were backwards, and barbaric and hilarious. It is a folly of men, I think, that they forge ahead without looking back. That folly has not quieted yet,.

[He agreed... well, a little more floridly. (He never can quite seem to spare anyone the trouble of lecturing on the lessons of the past, and this setting's snobbery against it only put him more up in arms about it; being now from 'the past' himself, and not only in his sentiments.)

He is thankful, though he does not know it, that Combeferre does not bring up radiation warfare again. How his heart could not bear it, just now.

As to the other topic...]

You have noticed. [Reminded, ducking too, well into his collar, but more from sheepishness; clearing his throat and speaking more lightly.] Tormenter, who likes so well to observe and take note of all things, from butterfly wings to mechanics, yeast cultures to electric; who would take something as darling as that and put on the cap of science and not philosophy!

[Teased back; well, it was a bit true though, really...; under his breath.

Snorting softly, he reached out (he was still not too far) and gave him a playful, light swat.]

Is it the task of a scientist, to observe as if we are animals in a zoo? Or the task of a brother, to observe simply to make sure we blush? I did not know I had one, if that is the case; I submit my horror at either conclusion.

Have we done such ourselves, at home, do you think? Joly and I more than the rest of you perhaps.

[Combeferre can recall a few conversations of medicine where this has come up at any rate, and now, being a part of somewhere that has been skipped over almost completely in terms of what others will remember, it's given him cause to contemplate his own behavior of the past.]

I do regret that now, in newer ways than I had before. We focus so much on the present, and the future that we still discount so much. An instinct, for me, but not one which I approve of in myself. Remember the lessons of history and philosophy. I often forget to do that much. It's one thing I've come to learn here, I suppose. And something I must rectify.

[He will work on that, at any rate. It's not as though there is a lack of information or material that he's been presented with in the media libraries after all. And the other topic is, of course, better.]

I HAVE noticed. [And at this point, his spectacles are slipping down his nose, and he is laughing at the swat.] But I notice nearly everything as you point out. Who says that love cannot be both things as long as it is not reduced to merely science? Hmm?

As to my SPECIFIC task...it depends on the day, really. As to yours...let us consider what that may be, actually.

I would not accuse, no. I would not call a want for progress a snub of things past.

[...Though yes. If they had, and if Jehan were willing to say it, perhaps Combeferre and Joly the most, out of necessity. Not out of cruelty or ignorance, as was much more common; alas.]

More... I would say that thinking men progresses in anything, beyond thought and means, is a bit arrogant. We will always want for the same things, and be, fundamentally the same. As we are always born anew, it is only through remembering the knowledge of the years before we were even a concept of fate that we do not start anew, I believe.

You do yourself a disservice, to; for I have known you to be a philosopher, and have respected that in you very much. Should you see some error in your manner of thinking, only you are at liberty to decide it is an error, and I have every faith that you of all men will seek to be without error-- you are good like that.

[And he meant that. Of the many men he'd call good; and really, Jehan's opinion wasn't that difficult to come by... but his deeper sentiments, he hoped, were; Combeferre was really among the best. He was measured, and kind, and thought very much before acting, and then acted in the interest of all parties... what other definition of 'good' could there be?

But Jehan does roll his eyes a little, at love being a science.]

I thank you to take your surgeon's fingers, gloved and poised with the scalpel, away from the cheery, springtime concept of love; who must fly like a nymph on the wind away from every attempt to grasp it, or to understand it. It's effrontery, to think that it can be observed, and logic applied to it, and noted. It will laugh, and call you quite silly, and change its form to thwart you.

[He promised.]

My specific task? Why, what would you consider that to be? I cannot think I have much use at all, beyond talking a lot.

That does have a measure of sense. I think we often do take the past for granted, particularly as we pursue new things here. I think that is not uncommon here either, if it comes to that.

[Combeferre considers those in engineering, those who he has been learning from, and well. At times he would say there is a pursuit of progress, much like his own, that leaves him dizzy, even so. And he is smiling at Jehan's next words.]

Ah but at times one needs a friend to point it out all the same in order for it to be noticed. Still, yes of course. I must consider it more carefully, I think, before I come to a conclusion as to the errors in my thinking, if they exist. But that I am able to do so, and to recognize the flaws in myself, well. I do not know if I am so good as you seem to think, Jehan, but you flatter me, and give me hope I may continue in the path.

And as for love...

[He does think, to some degree that it is something one can observe perhaps, that there is a sort of law to it, or well...]

Perhaps it is our reaction to love then, that can be measured, rather than the quality itself. I mislabel, I think, and treat the way I view it as a general approach, as though it were an appendix or rupture I could repair or analyze. You are too right about that and that I am sometimes too scientific for my own good.

As for your task? You are the burst of air that sustains us all, and reminds us that good triumphs and has a greater strength than we can say. You are the representative of that. Directly. And you have very much use in that.

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