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It isn’t uncommon, these days, for Marius to be late. Even to meetings, where the consequence of tardiness means being chewed out by Enjolras, Marius has been arriving later and later, rushing into the café looking dazed, his face flushed. He always murmurs an apology, avoids Enjolras’s glare, and ducks into a seat tucked in the corner, usually beside Courfeyrac and as far from Grantaire’s teasing as possible. Grantaire still can’t believe Marius has managed to date someone like Cosette, and though his teasing often takes on a bit of a proud undertone, he’d laughed until he cried when he spied the hickeys on Marius’s neck.
So they see less and less of Marius these days, even Courfeyrac, who lives with him, and no one is particularly worried when Marius is tardy for their Thursday night meeting. Enjolras impatiently gives him fifteen minutes before starting, and Marius’s absence is forgotten for a while. They begin to settle in as they listen to Enjolras, occasionally speaking up or asking a question or challenging one of Enjolras’s ideas. Around the time Feuilly orders a second cup of coffee and Combeferre takes away Grantaire’s flask, Jehan pulls out a notebook and begins to scribble in it. Courfeyrac cards his fingers through Jehan’s hair. Joly leans against Bossuet. It is quiet and comfortable as they listen to Enjolras passionately speak, and Joly looks ready to drift off when Courfeyrac’s phone rings.
Enjolras shoots him a look, while Grantaire looks amused. Courfeyrac apologizes as he digs in his pocket to shut his phone off. “I forgot, I’m sorry—“ His brows furrow as he sees the screen, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he answers.
Enjolras throws up his hands in annoyance, though his face relaxes imperceptibly when he hears Courfeyrac’s, “hi, Marius.”
The mood changes quickly as Courfeyrac sits up. “Wait, what? What do you mean? Where are you?” Jehan stops scribbling and turns around; Joly sits up slowly.
Courfeyrac waves a hand at Combeferre. “Can you pull up Google Maps on your phone?”
Grantaire laughs. “And of course Marius is lost.” Enjolras rolls his eyes but takes a seat anyway; Grantaire throws an arm around him.
“I—“ Courfeyrac is still talking to Marius. “Are you sure that’s a street? No, I’ve just never heard of it—“ He turns to Combeferre, gives him the name of a street that doesn’t sound at all like a real word. Combeferre spends a few minutes frowning at his phone. “How did you even end up there?” Courfeyrac listens for a while, laughs. “Good for you! How’d it go?”
Enjolras sighs. “I guess that’s it for today,” he says ruefully.
“Ooh, Marius is in trouble,” Grantaire singsongs. He’s mostly pleased someone else has annoyed Enjolras this time, though because it’s Marius, he’s sure Enjolras won’t stay mad long. Then again, Grantaire has some advantage over the others, since most of his fights with Enjolras end up in the couple making out. Something about being angry seems to turn Enjolras on. Grantaire can’t complain.
“We’re going to head out, then,” Bossuet says, and Enjolras nods a goodbye. He’s left with Grantaire, Jehan, who has gone back to scribbling in his notebook, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre, who still can’t seem to find Marius on his map.
Courfeyrac stands up suddenly. “This is ridiculous, I’m coming to find you.” He pulls away from the phone, turns to Enjolras. “Can I borrow your car? I promise to be careful or whatever. I just—“ he shrugs as his phone. “The kid’s hopeless.”
Enjolras nods. “I’ll drive.” He nudges Grantaire with his knee as he gets up, his way of showing affection. “See you later?”
Grantaire smiles easily. “Find our poor pup. I’ll be at Courf’s. Jehan? Keep me company?” Jehan nods absently, doesn’t look up from his notebook. A lock of hair falls into his face. Grantaire turns his gaze back to Enjolras. “Yeah, we’ll just wait for you there. Ferre?”
“I’m going with them,” Combeferre says, sounding a bit annoyed. He’s given up on his map search but keeps frowning at his phone as though he can force it to do things through sheer irritation.
“Marius, we’re on our way. You should probably find a café or something, stay put—“ Courfeyrac says as he leads the way to Enjolras’s car and climbs in. “What? No, we’re leaving now. Marius, it’s fine, we’re already on our way. Stop apologizing. No. No— Well you can make it up to me by serving breakfast in bed. A week, how’s that? A month’s a bit overboard, don’t you think?” Courfeyrac laughs. “No, I don’t think Enj would go for that. Ha. Maybe just be on time for the next couple of months, I think he’d like that better.”
Courfeyrac listens for a bit before nudging Combeferre. “Can you look up the name of a bar— wait, what is it again?” he asks Marius, then snorts, “Valhalla. He’s on a mystery street where the only place that’s open is a bar called Valhalla. Is that not so typically Marius?”
“How did he end up there?” Enjolras asks.
“Found it,” Combeferre says, passing his phone to the front seat. “Take the next left.”
“I’m putting you on speaker,” Courfeyrac says. “Tell Enjolras how you managed this one.”
“—get mad at me,” Marius is saying when his voice fills the car.
“Too late, you’re already on.”
“Courf!” Marius sighs. “Enj, I’m really sorry. I did try to be on time. I would have, except I didn’t know where I was, and I guess I should’ve called you then but I thought I could find my way on my own, and then I got terribly lost…”
“How did you get there, anyway?” Combeferre asks, adding “take a right at the second stoplight.”
“Well… Please don’t be mad, Enjolras, I am sorry, but Cosette wanted me to meet her father because—well, she told me she loved me—“
“That’s my boy,” Courfeyrac says softly, and Enjolras rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
“—and it’s her first serious relationship, so she said she wanted it done right. So I went to meet her father, we had lunch, and we got on pretty well so I stayed to watch a movie. But I left with plenty of time to make the meeting! I made sure of it! Except she had walked me to her house, I had to work this morning and she was running errands so we walked there together— ow — sorry, tripped — and so we walked to her house together, but obviously I left alone, so…”
“Don’t hurt yourself, Marius, it’s fine. You get a pass this time, but only because it’s your first serious relationship.”
“And congratulations on getting along with her father,” Combeferre adds. “From the way she described him, I always imagined him rather difficult to deal with. Y’know, the overprotective father type.”
“He is,” Marius admits. “I think he just knows Cosette too well to think he can scare off a boyfriend and get away with it.”
“That, or your puppy face,” Courfeyrac laughs. “No one can resist the Marius Pontmercy charm.”
Courfeyrac can practically hear the blush as Marius tells him to stop. Combeferre directs Enjolras to take a left, then a sharp right.
Marius goes silent suddenly, and when he speaks again his voice is much softer. “Um— how— do you know how far away you are?”
Enjolras speeds up just a little even as he asks, “why?” and Combeferre says, “ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes. Right. All right. It’s just— well, if you could go any faster — I mean, please don’t get pulled over or anything. It’s fine. Um. I just. I’ve realized this is probably… not the best part of town?”
“I can do seven minutes without getting pulled over,” Enjolras says, speeding up accordingly. “Talk to us. Tell us what’s going on.”
“Um. It’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean— it’s just dark and I’m alone, I got a bit jumpy for a moment. It’s fine.”
Courfeyrac frowns. “Is anyone else around?”
Marius doesn’t answer for a moment, and in that silence they can hear the faint sounds of shouting. “I— no, no one’s around.”
Enjolras immediately speeds up again, so far past the speed limit and so far past caring. Even if they hadn’t just heard the voices in the background, they can always rely on Marius’s inability to lie. There is a sudden sense of urgency within the car.
“Marius.” Enjolras says. His voice is firm, in full leader mode, with an undercurrent of emotion that only Marius or Grantaire or sometimes Jehan can evoke.
“Yes,” Marius admits. “There’s— it’s just a group of guys. They’re a bit riled, that’s all.”
They can hear the shouting a bit louder now, though they can’t make out the words over Marius’s erratic breathing.
Combeferre instructs Enjolras on the next three turns, then says, “four minutes, Marius. We’re close.”
“Keep talking,” Courfeyrac says.
“It’s nothing, really.” Another terribly executed lie. “Just— well, it is a bar. And it’s late.”
“Not that late,” Combeferre mutters.
“Talk to us about something else,” Enjolras suggests. “We’re nearly there. Just keep talking.”
But he doesn’t, and the trio in the car can hear the shouting clearly now; they can hear what sounds like three or four guys, calling out insults, yelling a slur, undoubtedly aimed at Marius. They hear one of the voices get louder, perhaps approaching Marius, making some crude suggestions as the others in the background laugh.
“Please,” Marius whispers, and Courfeyrac isn’t sure if it’s for them or for the men harassing him, but Enjolras’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel as Combeferre tells him the last set of directions. If something were to happen while they were so close… Courfeyrac’s stomach clenches.
The last thirty seconds feel terribly long, but suddenly Marius is there, illuminated by the light from the bar. A larger man—not much taller, but thicker, and considerably more muscular—has crowded him, their faces inches apart, and Courfeyrac flings himself out of the car before Enjolras has properly stopped it. His vision tunnels, and he throws himself between the two, stepping in front of Marius so that he’s shielded, and pushes the other man back a few steps.
“Aw, we were just about to have some fun,” the man says. “C’mon now, don’t be like that.”
“Step the fuck back,” Courfeyrac says, voice unsteady with anger. “You keep the fuck away from him. You fucking—“ He’s too furious to form words. His hands are shaking, and he clenches them to keep from lunging at the man as he so desperately wants. He breathes, takes in the feel of Marius’s own hands fisted tightly in the back of his shirt, and breathes again. The man looks as though he might challenge Courfeyrac, until Enjolras steps up, and Combeferre beside him.
“If I see you come near him again,” Enjolras says quietly, “if I see you ever again, I will beat you senseless.” Enjolras speaks calmly, but his tone leaves no room for doubt, and perhaps something in Enjolras’s face tells the man that he is capable of keeping this promise. The man skulks off to his friends, who have long since stopped shouting and now urge him back into the bar. When the group has gone inside, Enjolras turns to Marius, who is still clinging to Courfeyrac’s back.
“Marius?” Enjolras says tentatively, in a gentle tone that is rarely heard. Marius’s eyes are wide, and he allows Courfeyrac to turn around and gather him into a tight hug.
“We should get out of here,” Combeferre says, gently rubbing Marius’s back. The trio leads Marius to the car, helps him and Courfeyrac into the back seat—the pair still clinging to each other—and Combeferre, seeing Enjolras’s face, takes the keys. “You shouldn’t drive right now,” Combeferre says softly, and Enjolras doesn’t argue.
The ride to Marius and Courfeyrac’s apartment is silent save for the occasional reassuring murmur from Courfeyrac. Enjolras looks back at them from the passenger seat every now and then, looking as though he wants to say something before changing his mind. When they arrive, Marius disentangles himself from Courfeyrac as he gets out of the car, though he does grab his hand as they make their way up. The door is unlocked, and Combeferre goes in first, to give a quick warning to Grantaire and Jehan, who are still there, waiting. They are seated on the couch, each clutching a bottle of beer, Jehan’s notebook sitting open in his lap. Grantaire stands when he sees Marius.
“What happened?” Grantaire’s voice is a bit too harsh, he immediately realizes, and he apologizes when he sees Marius flinch. “Sorry, sorry. Just—God, Marius. Sit down.” He gestures to where he’d been sitting on the couch; Jehan moves over so that Courfeyrac can sit as well.
“It’s—it’s fine,” Marius says finally. He clears his throat when his voice shakes. “Really, I’m fine. You got there in time. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Enjolras says. He kneels in front of Marius and holds out his hands. “Let me see.”
Courfeyrac isn’t surprised that Enjolras had noticed whatever Marius tried to hide; Courfeyrac had been too angry to notice much, and Enjolras has always been better with details. Still, he can’t help the gasp that escapes when Marius reluctantly rolls up the long sleeves he’s wearing. Dark, angry marks mottle the skin around his wrists, clear handprints.
“God,” Grantaire says again, and Jehan hisses.
“Is there anything else?” Enjolras asks, and Marius shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he repeats, and Combeferre stalks away into the kitchen.
“Stop it,” Courfeyrac says; he rubs circles into Marius’s back. “You don’t have to be fine. And don’t you dare apologize,” he cuts in when he sees Marius open his mouth. “It’s not your fault.”
Marius looks sheepish. “I should have looked up the directions—“
“Hush,” Courfeyrac says.
“Ferre?” Enjolras calls out.
“I know, I know, just— just hold on.” Combeferre answers from the kitchen. There’s silence for a moment, then the sound of the refrigerator door opening.
“Marius,” Enjolras says, and he manages to sound gentle and commanding all at once. This is a recent skill that is mostly Marius’s doing. “If you are ever lost again, promise me you won’t try to find your way on your own. You’re really terrible with directions,” he throws in, and Marius smiles. “Promise me. Call someone immediately.”
“I will,” Marius murmurs. He grips Enjolras’s hands briefly, gratefully, and then leans into Courfeyrac, suddenly tired.
Combeferre returns from the kitchen, holding a makeshift ice pack. He hands it to Enjolras and takes a step back, looking conflicted as Enjolras explains that icing the bruises will help them heal quicker. Marius winces at the cold but otherwise does not move from against Courfeyrac’s shoulder.
It’s silent for a while. Enjolras remains crouched in front of Marius, holding the ice to his wrists. Jehan has curled up into himself beside Courfeyrac, biting his lip occasionally as he watches. Marius’s breathing is evening out, and just when it seems he has fallen asleep, he speaks up.
“Thank you for finding me.”
He says it so softly, as though it’s not meant to be heard, but it is, of course it is, and Combeferre feels something in his chest tighten. Enjolras removes the ice, reaches up to cup Marius’s head for a moment before standing. Jehan hugs his knees tighter to his chest.
“You should sleep,” Grantaire says finally. He glances around. “We should… go?” he asks, uncertain. Marius nods.
“I’m fine now,” and he means it. “Thank you, R.” Enjolras goes into the kitchen to put the ice pack away. Jehan unfolds himself.
“Call me tomorrow,” he murmurs to Courfeyrac, who nods. Jehan watches Marius solemnly, waits for Enjolras to reappear. “I’m glad you’re safe,” Jehan says quietly, then leans across Courfeyrac to whisper something to Marius, who looks surprised but nods.
“Thanks,” Marius says with a small smile. “I— I think I will.” Jehan stands slowly.
“Get some sleep, then,” Enjolras says. “Call if you need.” He slips his hand easily into Grantaire’s, tugs him away. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” The pair leaves slowly, a bit reluctantly. Courfeyrac sees Grantaire whisper to Enjolras as they leave, no doubt asking for details. Jehan glances at Combeferre.
“D’you want a ride home?” he asks, and Combeferre nods. “Tomorrow,” Jehan reminds Courfeyrac. He glances at Marius and holds his gaze for a moment, before slipping outside. Combeferre is left standing beside the door.
“Marius.” Combeferre sounds pained. “Just. Look, this wasn’t your fault, all right? It would’ve happened to anyone who was there alone. It was a wrong-place-wrong-time situation. It wasn’t—it wasn’t because of you. You know?”
Marius lifts his head from Courfeyrac’s shoulder, looks at Combeferre. “Wasn’t it, though?” he asks quietly, and suddenly Courfeyrac understands.
“Oh. No. No, Marius,” Courfeyrac says. “Ferre’s right, it could have been anyone. You just got unlucky.”
“They were drunk,” Combeferre adds. “It was nothing to do with you.”
“But I’m—“ Marius closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m an easy target. I know that.”
“It wasn’t you,” Combeferre says, frustrated. “It happens. It’s happened to Enjolras.”
“But that wasn’t—they wanted to started a fight with him, they didn’t want to—to—“
“It would have progressed if Bahorel and Joly hadn’t shown up. That kind of thing happens, a bunch of drunk guys like that?” Combeferre runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I just don’t want to leave with you thinking—it wasn’t your fault, all right? It wasn’t about you, it’s just that you were there, and you were convenient. That’s all. And you don’t—I don’t want you to act fine if you’re not. We care about you. And you know if it were anyone else, it’d be the same thing, you’d be telling them this.”
“I don’t think I would step up like you all did, though,” Marius admits. “You all looked ready to fight that guy, and I don’t think I would have. I’m not—“
“But you have,” Courfeyrac reminds him, and Marius rolls his eyes.
“That was different, that was at a protest, not some dark alley.”
“You punched that guy because he knocked Grantaire out. I had to pull you away, you nearly got arrested.” Courfeyrac says firmly. “You were about to fight him, Marius. That’s what we mean; you’re there when you’re needed. And you didn’t let Grantaire bullshit about how ‘fine’ he was. So let us return the favor, yeah?”
“Tomorrow when I ask you how you’re doing, I want you to be honest with me,” Combeferre says. “All right? Not being fine doesn’t make you weak. I never thought I’d have to tell you that.” He says this a bit sternly, but not unkindly. He glances at the door, remembering Jehan waiting outside. “Ice your wrists again tomorrow. They should fade soon.”
Marius nods. “Thank you, Ferre,” he says softly, and Combeferre gives him a gentle smile.
“We love you, kid. Get some sleep.” The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and after a beat Marius stands.
“I suppose they’re right, I should go to bed…” He looks at Courfeyrac uncertainly. “Would you--?” Courfeyrac stands as well, squeezes Marius’s hand.
“Of course.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise,” Courfeyrac admits. “Does this mean I get to be the big spoon?” He’s teasing, but only a little. Marius rolls his eyes, nudges him.
“Just this once.”