Disclaimer: Why would anyone think I own Les Miserables?

So clearly I've been at it again. This was the first time I'd had a chance to write Bahorel and I really enjoyed it. He's a bit more snarky than I intended him to be, but I think I did okay. That being said, let the deadly tale begin!

Grantaire wasn't surprised to wake up to shouts and angry yells from the other side of his door. Enjolras was known for yelling at Courfeyrac for making too much noise playing video games while he was working on a rally speech, but the noise sounded a little different this time.

"What the fuck is going on?" Grantaire rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes and got out of bed, walking out of the room and towards the living room, where the shouting seemed to be originating.

What he found before him was nothing unusual. Combeferre was studying his philosophy notes for an upcoming exam, Courfeyrac was playing with Remy, his calico kitten, on his orange and green striped recliner, Enjolras was watching his usual news shows on the TV. The only thing out of place was a very anxious Joly standing in the middle of everything.

"Morning, R," Courfeyrac noticed the cynic enter the room and nodded in his direction.

"What's Joly think he's got now?" Grantaire said through a yawn.

"What is it this time?" Enjolras looked at the med student. "Was it malaria or some form of TB?"

"But no one gets-" Grantaire started to say.

"Shh!" Combeferre shushed at him. "We know that."

"It was measles!" Joly exclaimed, seeming quite terrified.

"Why does he think he's dying this time?" Grantaire took Remy from Courfeyrac and sat down on the couch next to him.

"I've been coughing for days, my head hurts, I've got a fever and this rash suddenly appeared on my arm," Joly rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and showed Grantaire.

"But didn't you burn yourself on the stove the other day at your apartment when Bahorel ran into you?" Courfeyrac reminded Joly.

"You kept saying that you thought that you would need your arm amputated because it looked gangrenous to you," Enjolras went on.

"Even though it wasn't," Combeferre added.

"But the symptoms fit!" Joly exclaimed.

"Joly, it sounds to me like you're just getting a cold," Grantaire told him. "Remember what happened when you got a cold the last time? Didn't it feel just like this?"

"Look, can one of you just take me to the hospital, please?" Joly's eyes glanced over each one of them.

"Have you asked your flat-mates?" Enjolras asked, taking a drink of his nearby cup of tea.

"They all refused and Jehan said that if I said one more word about it, he'll kick me out of the apartment," Joly said. "Bahorel threatened to punch me in the throat."

"A bit violent for Bahorel, isn't it?" Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes in surprise.

"You know he's been studying for his big law exam today," Grantaire shrugged. "He's a bit on edge as of late."

"Look, Joly, you're fine," Enjolras told the man standing on the other end of the room. "You've just got a little cold that you need to get over."

"No sense in worrying about it, right?" Grantaire said. "You'll be better before you know it."

"Grantaire, I need your help."

Grantaire rolled his eyes and put down his book that he had been reading, eyes moving in the direction of Courfeyrac's room.

"What are you doing, Courf?" Grantaire asked warily.

"I'm building a bomb shelter for the nuclear fallout when the zombies attack and I need your assistance setting up some barbed wire," Grantaire had known him long enough to know when Courfeyrac was joking around.

"Very funny, Courfeyrac," Grantaire yelled back at him, standing up and heading towards the bedrooms.

"I can't find my skinny jeans," Grantaire found Courfeyrac rummaging around his sock drawer whilst wearing only a band shirt and boxers.

"So you think they're in your sock drawer?" Grantaire frowned. After looking around the room and noticing the mess, he added, "I think the nuclear fallout's already happened in here."

"Oh, hush," Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out at Grantaire. "Do you see them anywhere around here?"

"The red, green, blue or orange ones?" Grantaire asked. "Or are there more that I don't know about?"

"I'm wearing the teal and yellow ones," Courfeyrac responded.

"Oh, the mermaid ones?" Grantaire asked as he started pulling the sheets off of the bed in his search.

"Mermaid ones?" Courfeyrac frowned.

"Marius said they looked like they should be in that Disney mermaid movie," Grantaire explained.

"Courfeyrac! Grantaire!" Combeferre's voice could be heard from the living room. "Get out here!"

"What are you doing home so early?" Courfeyrac grabbed the nearest jeans he could find, which just so happened to be green with orange cheetah prints, and attempted to pull them on as he followed Grantaire out of the room. "I thought you'd be at work until nine."

"They sent me home because we weren't busy," Combeferre was sitting on the couch, his phone in front of him on the coffee table.

"So what's going on?" Grantaire asked, noting that something was wrong.

"Well, I just got a text from Bahorel," Combeferre responded. "Apparently Joly checked himself into the hospital this morning."

"He did what now?" Courfeyrac's eyes widened in surprise.

"Bahorel got a call from the hospital saying that Joly had checked himself in," Combeferre explained, twisting the cap off the bottle of Pepsi in his hand and taking a swig.

"How'd the hospital get Bahorel's number?" Grantaire frowned, sitting next to Combeferre on the couch.

"Remember when Joly needed to get his appendix taken out and he had to fill out all those forms for people to contact and things like that?" Combeferre asked. "He put down Bahorel, Bossuet and Jehan Prouvaire down as emergency contacts." He tossed the Pepsi bottle in the air aimlessly and caught it in his hand before adding, "Since Bossuet and Jehan are in class right now, they've probably got their phones off, leaving them to try Bahorel."

"And Bahorel is done with class for the day, so they reached him," Grantaire nodded.

"So what's he going to do?" Courfeyrac asked, getting off the recliner to walk into the kitchen, only to return a few seconds later with a bag of crisps.

"He was going to come over here to try to clear his head," Combeferre said. "I lived with Joly for a while, so I understand the need to get some space every now and again."

"And he thinks coming over here is going to solve that?" Grantaire frowned.

Combeferre opened his mouth to respond when the door opened and Bahorel stepped into the room, his messenger bag hanging over his shoulder and carrying some textbooks in his hand. He looked rather exacerbated, much like he was going to punch a hole in the wall next to him.

"Do I have permission to kill my room-mate now?" Bahorel muttered through gritted teeth as he set his bag down against the couch and took off his trench coat and laid it across the back of the couch.

"I know it's frustrating. Trust me, I do," Combeferre told the man sitting on the couch, looking very much like he was going to throttle something or someone. ",But this isn't even the worst he's done."

"Oh yeah?" Bahorel looked at Combeferre.

"When I was living with him, he tried to give himself a lobotomy," Combeferre said with a shrug.

"That's particularly nasty," Grantaire grimaced, getting up off the couch to make some tea for the group in the kitchen.

"So what's going on with him now?" Courfeyrac asked.

"I haven't actually spoken with him yet," Bahorel said, not sounding the slightest bit worried about his room-mate's health. "The nurse said they were running tests and such on him."

"You know he's going to be fine," Courfeyrac said as Remy jumped onto his lap and he started scratching her behind the ears.

"Oh, I know it," Bahorel said. "We all know it. It's just a matter of convincing Joly." Bahorel rolled his eyes and said, "'Ferre, why did I let you convince me to be his room-mate?"

"Because you needed a cheap flat and your last room-mate was the leader of the French drug cartel and was going to slit your throat in your sleep for some reason," Combeferre had taken out his philosophy textbook and was reading, not taking his eyes off the page as he answered Bahorel's question.

"Seriously?" came Grantaire's voice from the kitchen over the sound of the microwave whirring in the background. "The French drug cartel?"

"I didn't know that until a week before I moved out," Bahorel explained.

"You didn't think to ask what he did for a living?" Courfeyrac frowned.

"That's not the point," Bahorel shook his head. "Bossuet and Jehan and I are at our wits' end over this whole situation." Running a hand through his hair, he added, "Last month, Joly was trying to tell Jehan that he had the mumps."

"What did he really have?" Grantaire asked as he walked into the living room, a tea-tray of mugs in his hand.

"Nothing," Bahorel took the mug Grantaire gave him. "He was perfectly fine." He sniffed the air, turned to Grantaire and said, "R, what kind of tea did you make this time?"

"You've got your usual chai tea," Grantaire was still distributing tea mugs. "I've got my licorice cinnamon spice, Courf's got orange spice and Combeferre has lemon ginger."

At that particular moment, a strange sort of music filled the room. The inhabitants of the apartment looked around, assuming that Courfeyrac had left his iPod playing on the speakers, but Bahorel seemed rather calm when he pulled out his phone and realized that he had a call.

"It's Joly," Bahorel stared at the screen on his phone.

"Well, answer it!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, startling Remy, causing the cat to jump down from the couch and scamper out of the room.

Bahorel pressed his finger against the touch-screen and put his phone to his ear.

"Yeah, Joly? What's up?" Bahorel paused for a few seconds. "Yes, I know you're in the hospital. I'm assuming things have changed since when I left for class this morning?"

"Why else would he have gone?" Grantaire muttered to himself.

"Quiet, R," Combeferre shushed the artist.

"More symptoms? Like what?" This made Bahorel a bit concerned. "Abdominal pain? Maybe you just ate something weird."

"We did go out for seafood last night," Courfeyrac told Bahorel, who nodded in response.

"No, I'm positive that those aren't menstrual cramps, Joly," Bahorel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers in frustration while Grantaire started laughing. "Because you're not female, that's why! You don't even have those parts you'd need for that!"

"That's a bit extreme, even for him," Combeferre said, though he was smiling at the absurd situation unfolding in his living room.

"Joly, could it have been that seafood we had last night?" Bahorel suggested. "I'll admit that you might have a touch of food poisoning, but you do not have whatever the fuck you think you've got!"

"Bahorel's swearing," Grantaire blinked in surprise. "This is getting serious."

"Grantaire, be quiet," Combeferre threw a pillow at Grantaire, hitting him square in the face.

"No, I'm not picking you up if you get out tonight, Joly," Bahorel leaned back against the couch, running his fingers through his hair. "Because you're the one who checked yourself in! If you could get there before, you can get home now. And no sense calling anyone at Combeferre's because I'm there now."

"Way to drag us into this," Courfeyrac sipped at his tea.

"I'll be at the apartment in a bit if you get sent home. Call me if you're coming home tonight, though," Bahorel said. "Bossuet and Jehan Prouvaire would probably like to know that." He paused to sip his tea while Joly spoke on the other line. "Okay, let me know what they say. Talk to you later."

"Did he seriously think he was having menstrual cramps?" Grantaire looked at Bahorel incredulously.

"I managed to talk him out of it," Bahorel rolled his eyes. "God, this is absurd."

"You know, I think I liked it better when he just sat in the bathroom and stared at his tongue in the mirror for five hours," Combeferre said, turning a page of his textbook.

"Who's staring at their tongue in the mirror?"

Enjolras had walked into the apartment, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a thermos of coffee in his hand. He looked rather surprised to see everyone in the living room, but he figured that there must be some reason for it and walked into the room.

"What's going on, guys?" Enjolras asked, setting his backpack down next to the large pile of shoes next to the TV.

"Joly's in the hospital," Grantaire responded.

"What?" Enjolras asked in an alarmed voice. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine, don't worry," Bahorel shook his head.

"He thinks he's suffering from menstrual cramps," Grantaire said, smiling behind his cup of tea.

"Menstru- oh, you're kidding me," Enjolras shook his head. "He seriously thinks that's the problem? He doesn't have the parts needed for that!"

"Which is exactly what I told him," Bahorel explained. "I expect he'll call back when they find out if there's anything wrong. Which I suspect there isn't."

"So did he check himself in or what?" Enjolras asked as he walked into the kitchen for his usual afternoon snack of cheese and crackers.

"Yeah, after the rest of us went to class," Bahorel explained. "I only found out because the nurse called and left a voicemail on my phone."

"So when do we find out if he's okay?" Enjolras called from the kitchen. "Or that he is, I should say?"

"I guess he'll call back soon and let me know," Bahorel shrugged. "I told him that I'm not bringing him home."

"Isn't that a bit harsh?" Enjolras reemerged with a plate of cheese and crackers in his hand.

"He managed to get there before," Bahorel shrugged again. "He can get back to our place just fine."

"Well, maybe you should tell Jehan and Bossuet that he could be getting out?" Courfeyrac asked, leaning over to grab some cheese from Enjolras' tray.

"Oh, they don't even know he's there now," Bahorel sipped on his tea with biting nonchalance.

"Say what now?" Combeferre looked at the smaller man in disbelief. "You didn't tell your room-mates that he was there?"

"I didn't think there was a need for them to know?" Bahorel frowned in confusion.

"Bahorel, are you shitting me?" Grantaire looked surprised. "If any of my flatmates were in the hospital, I'd like to know about it!"

"Yes, but none of your flatmates are hypochondriacs who visit the hospital once a month, R," Bahorel pointed out.

The strange music sounded throughout the apartment and Bahorel reached for his phone again. Checking the caller ID, he didn't seem surprised.

"What's the verdict?" After waiting for a few minutes, Bahorel responded by saying, "So you're good to go?"

"That's good news," Enjolras nodded, munching on some crackers.

"So is anything wrong with you at all?" Bahorel asked. Bahorel didn't speak while Joly was giving him a play-by-play of what was happening. "See? Just like Jehan Prouvaire and Bossuet told you yesterday."

"He's fine," Grantaire voiced what everyone else was thinking.

"So how are you getting home? I'm not coming to get you, remember?" Bahorel spoke into the phone.

"Sure you don't want us to-" Combeferre offered, but Bahorel shook his head in response.

"Yeah, that works for me. As long as you have enough for the fare," Bahorel responded. "Well, I might be at Courf's for a while, so I'll see you when you get back."

"So everything's aces?" Enjolras asked.

"They said that he's got a cold and nothing more," Bahorel said. "Now may I punch him?"

"Not everything needs to be solved with violence, Bahorel," Courfeyrac responded as he reached for the remote control and turned on a crime show.

"Still, mind if I chill out here for a while?" Bahorel asked the group. "I could use some time away from the flat."

"You know you're always welcome over here," Enjolras said through a mouthful of cheese and crackers. "Wanna finish that movie we started last time?"

"Oh yeah!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, suddenly excited. "We never finished 'Sucker Punch', did we?"

"You guys can watch," Grantaire sipped on his tea. "I need to finish a sketch for a project due next Friday."

"But you can still stay here and watch the movie, right?" Enjolras glanced at the artist, who was reaching for his sketchbooks.

"I'll sit here, but I probably won't watch," Grantaire responded.

"Looks like I've got a plan for the night," Bahorel said with a smile. "This'll be a good way to get that hypochondriac off my mind for a bit."

Not gonna lie, writing as Joly was really fun for this. Writing as Grantaire is fun, but Joly's paranoia about being sick is fun, too. I had an idea for a Bahorel/Jehan oneshot, but I might not be able to start that for a while. I'm trying to find a new job and that's taking a while at the moment. Thanks for reading!