[for Combeferre] Bodyswitch aftermath

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras was relieved to be back in his own body, more than he could say. He'd felt so out of control in Harkness' body, so unable to control urges that had been utterly alien to him. Things between him and Michael had been a bit awkward, but it seemed they had unspeakingly agreed to simply pretend it had not happened, which suited Enjolras just

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[butcivilization]

Combeferre,on the other hand, was in search of Enjolras. It was not a search he took on lightly. For the first day or so after everyone returned to normal, he had hesitated, wondered, worried - for his friend's sake as much as for himself. How would they feel about what had happened between them? Was he fretting overmuch, or would awkwardness linger?

In the end, there was only one way to find out. Once he had made the decision, Combeferre did not hesitate. Not finding him in the rec room, kitchen, or other places Enjolras frequented, Combeferre headed to his bedroom and knocked on the door.

[butcivilization]

Combeferre hid a grin. "Perhaps you are looking in the wrong book," he said, mildly teasing.

But he, too, was left puzzled. Schoolbooks had mentioned them, but not some simple text? He was not entirely certain he wised to see his name and deeds in ink, but if they were so well known, it should not be so difficult to find mention of them, or at least of the event. "Perhaps it is the wrong book," he repeated more slowly. "There are events that take some time to be noticed, and others initially discussed and later forgotten. History is a fickle thing."

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras nodded slowly, tilting the book up to examine the spine as if it might hold the answer to why they were not within its pages. "Perhaps. I intend to keep looking, at any rate." It still chagrined him, to think of their failure being taught to schoolchildren as--what? A lesson in timing? What was there to be gleaned from their failed barricade?

He let out an irritated sigh and picked up the book, dropping it onto the top of a pile near the foot of his bed. He didn't like not having answers once he'd asked a question.

[butcivilization]

Combeferre propped his chin on the heel of his hand, silent for a moment as he considered this theoretical book that spelled them out in enough detail to be remembered by schoolchildren. "I'm not certain how I would feel about seeing my name there, in black and white." His smile was rueful. "Bit of an absurd ring to it - to become history to be explained and taught, alongside Caesar and Charlemagne."

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras nodded, agreeing to some extent, at least. "Still, I'm curious to see what is said. What is remembered." He looked up at Combeferre, shrugging.

[butcivilization]

"Yes," Combeferre said softly. "It does make one wonder." But what could history truly say? About their hopes and dreams, what they had wanted, what they had achieved, for all their final failure. Were their friends who had died merely symbols and lessons now?

He shook his head slightly to clear it. "The man you spoke to, did he say anything else?"

[abaisse_chef]

Symbols and lessons meant more to Enjolras than to Combeferre, likely. He would find it some comfort if he could truly believe that their failed revolution had been the inspiration for others that had come after, that their small part in history had been played after all.

"He knew of Corinthe," he said quietly. "He knew of the final stand made there." What had he said? Blaze of glory. They went out with a blaze of glory. But there had been no glory, and what blaze there had been had been all but exterminated by the time Enjolras had arrived here, save his own. It was a detail he decided Combeferre didn't need to know. Blaze of glory indeed.

"Perhaps I will find him and speak with him again."

[butcivilization]

"He knew of Corinthe," Combeferre repeated quietly. It brought back memories of run-down tavern and the austere heights of freedom and liberty they had brought it to. For a short time the Republic of France had existed there.

"I would be curious to speak to him myself," he admitted with a wry twist of his mouth. "He might be able to point you in the proper direction for your books, at the least."