[For Combeferre] Aftermath

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras had spent a restless New Year's Day. The weather outside was not favourable to walking, so he'd had to resort to pacing the dank passage from the basement of the compound to the island's caves to assuage his need for movement, for action, though it did not keep him from thinking. Each time the previous night's scene played in his mind's

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[butcivilization]

Combeferre was calmer than he had been in the immediate wake of Enjolras' departure from the New Year's party. It had not shown, swept away as all had been in the magic of the evening - frustration, annoyance, hurt that Enjolras could not only be so rude, but so quickly dismissive even of his dearest friend. He will not change had long been a wry mantra of Combeferre's, long spoken lightly following one of his friend's moments of cold disdain.

But this was somehow different. Even when Enjolras' moods had been directed at him, they had never felt so personal.

Thomasina had asked him not to say anything for her sake, but it was not really for her that he went to Enjolras' door and knocked smartly. He had to do this for himself.

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras looked up, stomach tightening. It could be someone for Michael, of course. That was the most likely, even. But it could be Combeferre, and--he wasn't sure he was ready to speak to him yet.

He sat up a little straighter and called out calmly, "Entrez."

[butcivilization]

Combeferre stepped inside only enough to close the door behind him. He took a breath, appealing within himself for calm, but his expression stayed grim as he faced Enjolras. "Good afternoon."

[abaisse_chef]

"Is it?" Enjolras asked coolly, meeting Combeferre's eyes. Though he was as much surprised by the 'afternoon' as he was in disagreement with the 'good'.

[butcivilization]

Combeferre coolly arched a brow, but he held his calm. He would not so very easily be dragged into some worthless debate about the nature of the day. Let Enjolras keep his opinions to himself - for once. "I believe there is something we should talk about."

[abaisse_chef]

There were likely a few somethings they should talk about, but none of the topics appealed to Enjolras in the slightest. But he had a feeling Combeferre was not going to back down easily, not with the expression he was wearing. "And what would that be, Combeferre?" he asked quietly, rather than disagreeing flat-out.

[butcivilization]

"Your behavior two nights ago," Combeferre answered without a beat. He paused and took a breath, searching in Enjolras' cold expression for some acknowledgment - disdain, regret, annoyance, he no longer cared what - of what he was referring to. Anything that indicated that Enjolras at least knew that he might have hurt Combeferre would have served.

[abaisse_chef]

The acknowledgement he got, brief as it was, was quite likely not one Combeferre had expected. Pain flickered across Enjolras' expression and then was gone, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I behaved as I always do," he pointed out, jaw clenching. "What does it matter?" Though what he truly wanted to ask, almost as much as he didn't want to know the answer, was 'what does she matter?' For whether Combeferre brought up his companion from the fête or not, her presence was already felt in the conversation, in Combeferre's very motivation to speak to him.

[butcivilization]

"Remarkably, you behaved worse than you always do," Combeferre muttered, even as Enjolras' reaction, brief as it was, made him falter. He had expected a lot of things, but hurt in return had not been one of them. He swallowed and clasped his hands behind his back, barreling on. "It was unnecessary and rude to both me and Thomasina."

[abaisse_chef]

"Somehow I think you both will recover from your injuries," Enjolras replied with a roll of his eyes. He had no intention of apologising, especially for his behavior toward the girl. In fact, if he had it to do over again, knowing what he now knew, his words would likely be even more vicious. He hated the girl with a depth usually reserved for the monarchy and the bourgeoisie, for all those who stood as barriers to liberty and egality.

[butcivilization]

"And I suppose my own feelings matter not?" Combeferre twisted his fingers together, jaw tightening slightly. Well, wasn't this going precisely as well as he thought it might? "Believe me, I know you well enough not to expect an apology for her sake, but I thought you might give one for mine."

[abaisse_chef]

Oh, the irony of it all. That Combeferre had come here because he was hurt, when Enjolras had been more wounded than he would have thought possible save for a sword or a bullet. "And what is it I should apologise for? Did I lie to you? Betray you? Surely you have thicker skin than that, Combeferre." He got to his feet, no longer able to keep still as the memory of midnight came to him again, the contrast between Combeferre's current angry expression and the tender smile he'd favoured that horrible girl with an almost physically painful thing.

[butcivilization]

Enjolras' icy words were like a physical blow, only exacerbating his still lingering hurt. Why did his coolness feel so personal now, as it rarely had before? He ducked his head, his voice tight as he answered. "It isn't enough to apologize for your rudeness? For belittling me and the way I choose to spend my time?" He shot Enjolras a cold look. "At the very least would you tell me what I have done?"

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras closed his eyes, teeth clenched so tightly they ached. Of the two choices--apologise or explain--he knew which he was willing to do. "I am sorry you were hurt by my manner," he ground out, slowly opening his eyes to meet Combeferre's. "It was not my intention."

[butcivilization]

It was not only the clear reluctance in Enjolras' apology that made Combeferre falter. He had come here full of frustration and righteous indignation, tired of slights, hurt that his friend had so abruptly voiced an opinion Combeferre had resumed was reserved (if often unfairly) for others - that his life and friends might be somehow less than.

But now - now - he wondered if there wasn't something else.

"Was there something I did?" he asked, more quietly now.

[abaisse_chef]

"No!" Enjolras answered immediately, angrily, shaking his head as if to dislodge a certain unwelcome vision. It was a lie and Enjolras disliked telling it, but how much worse would be the truth? "I had not had a pleasant evening up to that point," he added, voice strained.