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Tears: June, 1832
In the cold, dark hours of the night when everyone is supposed to be asleep, Feuilly spends some time creating a shred of immortality for himself and his philosophies on the wall before he gets up, shakes a cramp out of his hand, and seeks out Courfeyrac. The latter is dozing, but wakes a little when Feuilly sits down beside him and leans against the building that is serving as his chaise longue. "I didn't mean to wake you," Feuilly says quietly, trying not to compound his sin by waking other people who are trying to rest nearby. Courfeyrac looks at him dazedly for a moment. "That's all right." Feuilly embraces him. "Are you?" in a whisper. "Really?" "Am I what?" tugging him close. "Are you all right?" "More or less. Got a damnable crick in my neck." Courfeyrac kisses his cheek, unobtrusively. "But you're here." "Yes. I am." Feuilly fishes out a blue speckled handkerchief and presses it into Courfeyrac's hand. "But too few of us are. If you're not all right --" he touches his cheek gently. "You can tell me. And -- and whatever you need, mon amour." "Oh, Daniel." Courfeyrac blinks a few times, and hugs him. Feuilly hugs him tightly, assuming that nearly anyone who might be paying attention is actually asleep. "It's all right," he says softly. "You don't have to be brave for me." Courfeyrac strokes his hair. "I know." Possibly he is smiling. "If I am, it's not for your sake, love." "For whom, then?" "Myself. And them, maybe." "Ah." More softly yet, "No one will fault you if you grieve." The light tone acquires a certain edge. "Time enough for that." Feuilly lets him go, gives him a long look, and nods. "Of course." Courfeyrac reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Daniel-- there was a time I thought they'd killed you." Feuilly pales. "In the heat of battle -- it's not always easy to tell." "True." Courfeyrac meets his eyes. "And I love you more than life. I took you home safe, because that was what I could do for you; and if-- if it had been too late for that-- I would have taken what price I could out of the fumbling bastards who took you from me." His face is hard in the half-light. "Because that would have been all I could do for you." Feuilly embraces him again. "Ah, god, Aimé. I'm sorry." Courfeyrac sighs against his shoulder, holding him tightly. "Beloved." "And do you love them more than life?" Feuilly asks in his ear. There is nothing of accusation about his tone; if anything, there is despair. "Jesus Christ, Daniel," stricken. Feuilly's hands tighten on his shoulders. "Tell me. Please." "Damn it all." Courfeyrac's voice breaks then, without warning. "Do you have to do this? Even now?" He kisses Feuilly, not waiting for an answer, and not gently. "You know the answer, damn you, you know it--" and abruptly he goes silent, his shoulders shaking. Feuilly strokes his hair. "I was afraid of that." "It's losing you that will break me," in a racked whisper, "and I will. And God! damn you! they're dead, you have nothing to be jealous of! Does everything have to be different for you, more for you, do I have to promise I'll break down and cry like a girl when they kill you if God doesn't take pity on me and let me die first--" Courfeyrac is hoarse now with the effort of keeping his voice down. "What does it take? What do I have to do?" Feuilly shakes him a little, his face red. "Aimery. No. No, no -- that's not what I mean, not at all. Ah, beloved. No." He frowns. "I -- didn't know if I would lose you, if you were that upset and that angry yet." And again he buries his face in Courfeyrac's shoulder. "It's nothing to do with jealousy, nothing. I'm worried about you, chéri." Courfeyrac clings to him, trembling. "I love you." "And I you. More than anything in the world." Feuilly kisses his hair. "And if you need anything, I will give it to you." Courfeyrac is quiet for a minute, while he pulls himself together. "I need you to believe me, once and for all, when I say that I love you more than anything. You, damn it, not you and half the Latin Quarter, not you and everyone we know." Feuilly seems to have forgotten that there is anyone else nearby, for his response to this is, "I do believe you," reinforced with an impassioned kiss. "Good," indistinctly, before returning the kiss. Feuilly tangles his fingers in Courfeyrac's hair and clings to him. Courfeyrac pulls him close, leaning against the wall with a sigh. When at last Feuilly breaks the kiss to breathe, he settles next to Courfeyrac, close enough to murmur in his ear, "If you feel you cannot live without me, brother, friend, beloved -- you will understand that I feel quite the same way." A wan half-smile. "That's flattering." "I doubt it, but it's true." Feuilly leans on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Daniel," gently. "Whatever for? I had a hundred chances to avoid needing you this much," lightly. "Oh. Really? That's all right, then," as lightly. A moment later, Feuilly is in his arms again. "It isn't. Not really." "Well," softly, still teasing, "that would mean I was resistible, so I suppose not." "Chéri," chiding a little. Courfeyrac sighs. "I know. I'm sorry." "Nothing to be done for it, is there?" "Not really. Not now." Feuilly nods and lets him go a little. "All right." Courfeyrac looks at him wistfully. "Daniel..." "Yes?" Once again, softly, "I'm sorry." "You sound like me. It's all right, Aimé. I chose to do everything I've done. You have nothing to apologize for." "Stay with me?" Feuilly blinks at him. "Where on earth would I go?" "I don't know." Courfeyrac gazes at him for a minute. "Just--" "What?" gently. "Nothing. I don't want to let you out of my sight." Feuilly smiles. "I'm right here."
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