Chapter Text
“Help me. Please help me.”
The cry came from a wizened old man lying alone on his cot, and Joly stopped in his tracks and quickly went over to him. He laid a hand gently on the old man’s shoulder.
“Monsieur, how may I help you?” he asked.
The old man opened his mouth, but this time no sound came out. With a trembling hand he reached up and gestured to his throat. Joly grasped his patient’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, trying to comfort the old man even as his own fingers took in the dryness of his skin and the thready pulse on his wrist. His eyes were sunken and his mouth was dry. This man needed plenty of water, and fast.
“Be still, Monsieur,” he said gently. “I will get you some water. You will be all right.” Joly looked up for assistance, but everyone was preoccupied.
The Hopital de la Charite was the largest hospital in the district, but it was currently filled to bursting. There were only a handful of trained physicians and nuns; most of the patients were left with volunteers who had big hearts and strong stomachs, but little skill. The outbreak had the hospitals in pandemonium, so much so that medical students who had enough training were pulled out of the Universities and were sent to help where they could, but there just weren’t enough of them. They were understaffed, overwhelmed, and short of supplies.
It is as if the devil himself orchestrated it, Joly thought grimly. Gently releasing his patient’s hand, he rose and quickly went to fetch water himself. His feet took him to the kitchens where water was boiled clean of the bacteria that was causing the disease and in minutes he was on his way back with a cup of cooled water in hand. The trip took him outside for a brief moment and the cool night air between buildings refreshed Joly. He stood for a moment, gratefully breathing in fresh air before going back into the hot, fetid building.
I shan’t complain of having to study through the night ever again, he told himself as he wove through the rows and rows of occupied cots, navigating his way back to his patient. He was surprised to see that someone was already there.
A man was seated next to his patient’s bed and was leaning over him, helping the old man drink from a cup of water. Joly frowned. Having worked in the hospital as long as he had he knew all the men and women assigned to these wards, but he did not recognize this one. Had the old man’s family finally come for him?
“Pardon me,” he started, and the newcomer turned his head at the sound of his voice. Joly saw the sandy-blonde hair and familiar face, and he gasped.
“Monsieur Combeferre, what are you doing?” He hissed, alarmed to see one of his patients out of bed.
Blue eyes blinked calmly at him from behind thick glasses. “I am attending to the patient, Docteur,” Combeferre answered evenly, but his brows drew together as if he couldn’t understand Joly’s reaction. In front of them the old man coughed and Combeferre adjusted the cup of water he was holding against the patient’s lips. “Slowly, Monsieur,” Combeferre said gently and Joly bit his bottom lip contritely, knowing that it was he who had startled his patient into a coughing fit.
When the old man had settled, Combeferre looked back up at him expectantly and—Joly might just be imagining it—a little bit nervously, and Joly didn’t quite know what to do. He knew he should send Combeferre back to his cot to recuperate. The man was a patient, after all. The only reason Joly hadn’t done so immediately was because the situation confounded him; he’d never seen a patient try and help another patient before. Did Combeferre even know he himself had been even worse off than this old man only three days ago?
Combeferre was still looking to him to say something and Joly sighed. In the end the old man’s needs took precedence and the last he checked Combeferre was stable so he decided to attend to the matter at hand. In any case Joly needed all the help he could get.
“The water,” he started. “The water must be—”
“Saline and mixed with sugar or honey, I know. It is.” Combeferre said gently. He gave Joly a small grateful smile, knowing now that he wouldn’t be sent away, at least not immediately.
Joly nodded and handed Combeferre the cup he had brought from the kitchen before examining the old man while Combeferre helped the patient drink and watched him.
“He is stable,” Joly announced after a while. “For now.”
Combeferre nodded. “That is good.”
By now the old man had fallen asleep, and Combeferre carefully smoothed a threadbare blanket over him. Joly leaned back and took the opportunity to assess the young man silently. Combeferre was still a little pale, but otherwise seemed fine—a far cry from the dreadfully sick man he had been when he was first brought in, delirious with dehydration and close to death. But Joly still didn’t want to take chances.
“May I?” he asked, reaching for Combeferre’s wrist and the young man sighed, but extended his arm. Joly took his pulse and felt his forehead and did a quick physical exam to make sure he was well. Pulling out his stethoscope he listened to Combeferre’s heartbeat and breath sounds. Lastly, he pressed his fingers gently along the man’s neck, looking for swollen nodes, and checked his tongue.
“Everything seems to be in working order,” he said finally and Combeferre let out sigh of relief, but Joly frowned. “Still, you should not be out of bed. Three days are not enough to recover from your ordeal.”
Two days passed since the blond had woken up, and there were the two he had spent all but insentient. His stay here was now approaching five days, but Joly wanted to be sure he was well improved before he could let him go.
Combeferre seemed to shudder visibly at the idea of going back to his cot, though. “I could not stay there a moment longer,” he said. “I am fine, Docteur. I promise you. I can keep my food and water down. I can walk without aid. Surely total bed rest would be superfluous at this point?”
A sound argument, Joly thought to himself. “Perhaps,” he said, taking pity on the man. It was no easy feat to endure the wards of this hospital. Most people left the very moment they were able to—patients and volunteers alike, even those who had nowhere to go. Even then… “You still aren’t well enough to be sent home, Monsieur.” His tone brooked no argument.
Combeferre sighed like he knew it. “But I am well enough to walk around, yes?”
Joly considered it. The man did look a little too wan for his liking, but… "To heal the heart and soul is to heal the mind and body,” one of his mentors once said and Joly believed it. It would do Combeferre’s psyche no good if Joly confined him to his bed against his wishes. He glanced up and out the glass windows where the moon shone bright in a clear sky then looked back at his patient. “Well, it certainly wouldn’t do any harm unless you overexerted yourself,” he said. He looked around the ward and saw that things were relatively quiet so he placed a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder and stood.
“How about a short walk then?” He suggested. If anything movement would placate the man and be good for his circulation. And to be honest Joly needed a moment’s peace himself.
The other man regarded him dubiously, however. “I do not need a warden.”
Ah, but he does have heart… Joly thought back to his initial impression of the man and chuckled. “No, I should think not, but I would feel better knowing you are truly as good and well as you say you are.” He held out a hand to the other man. “Come now, Monsieur Combeferre. We could both use the fresh air and I would be glad for the company.”
Combeferre paused to consider it before he nodded, finally cracking a small smile. “All right.” He took Joly’s proffered hand and stood carefully. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Joly nodded with a smile. “This way.”
He turned and led his patient through the maze of cots, careful to stay at a pace that wouldn’t overtax the other man, and Combeferre followed him wordlessly, happy to be allowed out of his bed even if it was under the watchful eye of his physician. Several people paused in their work to greet Joly as they walked past, but Combeferre was largely ignored. This seemed to suit him just fine as his eyes took in more of his surroundings.
The hospital was larger than most people would first imagine. There were four immense buildings set in a square with a courtyard at its center and that was where Joly led the other man, out into the open garden.
Cool air hit them as soon as he crossed the threshold and Joly took his second breath of fresh air for the day. There was no mistaking the sigh of relief he heard from Combeferre as the blond took a deep breath himself. He probably felt like was breathing for the first time since he had woken up in the hospital. Joly left him to it and whipped out his pipe and started smoking, searching for his own peace for it was sure to be short-lived.
And then a thought struck him.
He cleared his throat to catch Combeferre’s attention and asked, “How much salt and honey was in that water you gave that man back there?” Joly needed to know. Fluids and ions were a more precise science than most people would believe and while he was sure the other man meant well he might have to correct any imbalances his earlier actions may have caused the old man back in the wards.
The question seemed to take Combeferre by surprise and he shrugged. “A teaspoon of salt and two of honey to a cup of water,” he answered easily and Joly couldn’t keep his own surprise from showing on his face.
“It was the first thing they taught us when we volunteered to help,” he started when Joly continued to look at him expectantly. “To balance what the body gains with what it loses, water by itself would not be enough—not for losses this extreme.” He looked at the young doctor and smiled sheepishly. “I am a Medical Student at the Collège,” he admitted, and Joly could actually feel his eyes all but lit up in astonishment.
“Are you?” He said. “That’s splendid!” It dawned on the physician that that was what Combeferre must have been doing out in the streets where he was found. He had said that he had been helping the victims of the epidemic, but he had neglected to mention this detail. But of course! Everybody in the Universities and Colleges was helping. Then another thought struck him. “You caught it…” Joly said slowly and he chuckled before clearing his throat. “Your professors would be most disappointed.”
Combeferre frowned, clearly slighted, until he saw the mirth in Joly’s eyes. The young doctor was only teasing. Combeferre imagined the look on his professors’ and colleagues’ faces if they could see him now. He’d never thought about it and the mental picture made him smile. “I imagine they would be, yes.”
Joly only shook his head. He felt an instant connection with Combeferre now that he knew they had something so important in common. Their conversation was light and easy. He asked about all the goings-on in France, from the latest trends and the newest books to his professors and the College, listening with rapt attention. It wasn’t until after Joly asked if an old cafe he used to frequent was still in business that Combeferre thought to ask about him in turn.
“How long have you been working here, Docteur?” He asked. “When did you last see the sun?”
Combeferre had most likely meant for it to be a joke, but Joly blushed in spite of himself and ducked his head. “It isn’t so much working that keeps me busy; I am still a student, you know, like yourself but in a higher year. I still have classes to attend so I’m not always here.” His face took on a different expression then, a more distant and serious one. “I’ve been here only six months, but even that is…” He seemed to struggle to find the words, but eventually gave up. He shook his head, as if shaking himself from a trance, and smiled as he met Combeferre’s eyes again. “Well, it is six months too long is what it is.”
Combeferre nodded in understanding. He always knew the art and science of Medicine was a challenge not everyone could take on. His few days in the hospital already felt to him like Calvary; what more six months spent slaving away in the service of those who could not pay a franc, and for absolutely no personal profit other than the experience?
He had been to this hospital before as well as all the others—the Dieu, the Necker; great buildings of gothic architecture where students learned from scholars and apprentices learned from masters. They all of them volunteered and pledged their lives to education, charity, and service.
“It is admirable, what you do,” Combeferre said with fervour and Joly’s bue eyes twinkled.
“Come now, Combeferre—may I call you that?” Combeferre nodded and Joly smiled graciously. “We all knew what we were getting ourselves into from the beginning. It is no more admirable than the decision to study Medicine at all.”
Joly winked and Combeferre flushed. They lapsed into a comfortable silence then, Joly steadily smoking his pipe while Combeferre luxuriated the time outdoors. All around the hospital nuns and other healers attended to the patients, but for now nobody needed the more able hands of a physician and Combeferre was glad for Joly’s presence, for without it he would surely be sent back to his disheartening cot.
The wards were filled to bursting with patients and the hospital clearly needed more people to help. But did the people of Paris know what went on inside the stone walls of the hospitals? Did they care? Combeferre himself hadn’t seen the gravity of the situation until now. Healthcare didn’t seem to be a priority to the government or to the people—not when they could afford private physicians who went to their houses and gave them the best treatment in the comforts of their homes.
Could we make a difference here, I wonder? He thought to himself. He decided that he would take it up with Enjolras the next chance he got. Then he sighed when he thought of his friend. Two days have passed since he awoke. They would have had their weekly meeting by now, and Combeferre was both eager for an update on their movements and anxious to be in the comfort of his usual life again. He was anxious to be out of the hospital and be with his friends. They still hadn’t gotten a hold of them; he had asked Musichetta so many times. Combeferre sighed again and leaned against the wall behind him.
“Is something the matter?” Joly asked right away and Combeferre shook his head no.
“Only that I am eager to be home. Perhaps I would have been better off lending a hand here rather than out there,” he said wryly and Joly gave him a sympathetic look.
“Well, we would surely have been glad for the help.”
Just then Musichetta stepped out into the courtyard and appeared at Joly’s side looking frazzled. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Joly almost dropped his pipe in his haste to put it out. “What is it?”
Musichetta heaved a great sigh. “New patients have come in from Beauvais. No other hospital would take them in; they have no room.”
Joly frowned. “We have no room,” he said, but even as he spoke he pocketed his pipe and straightened coat. Clearly his moment of peace was over.
“Joly, they have children…” ‘Chetta said plaintively and something wavered in the young doctors’ eyes. Combeferre watched as all the good humour from only moments before was replaced with fatigue.
“Right, let’s see what we can do then, shall we?” Joly said and Musichetta nodded and hurried back into the hospital. The doctor started after her, but then turned on his heel to face Combeferre as if remembering him at the last minute.
“I’m sorry, Combeferre,” he said apologetically. “Will you make it back all right on your own?”
“Of course,” Combeferre said quickly and Joly gave him a grateful look before turning away again. Then he stopped and walked back briskly to Combeferre’s side.
“You really are much better now,” he said. “I’m glad for that.” He grasped Combeferre’s arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Get a good night’s sleep and find me tomorrow. We will see what we can do about sending you home even without our friends to collect you.”
Without thinking Combeferre grasped the hand Joly had on his shoulder and squeezed it back. The prospect of being allowed home lifted his spirits with such cogency that it surprised even him. “Thank you,” he whispered and Joly gave him a tight smile as Musichetta called for him again from inside the hospital. Joly squeezed his shoulder one last time, and then he was gone, leaving Combeferre standing alone in the courtyard.
For a few minutes Combeferre continued to just stand there contentedly, relishing the peace and fresh air, but eventually the nuns’ eyes turned to him and regarded him sharply, and he elected to return to his cot on his own terms before they made him. He braced himself and entered the stifling halls of the hospital again.
Joly and Musichetta were nowhere to be seen, and there seemed to be even more patients now than there had been before he had stepped outside. One of them, a young woman too weak to stand, saw him as he entered and called out imploringly.
“Docteur,” she said weakly. Combeferre stared at her for a few moments before he realized she was calling out to him. Startled, he shook his head even as he went to her stand by her cot.
“Madame, I am not a Docteur,” he started to say, but was cut short when her mouth quivered and her eyes misted over with tears. She didn’t seem to have heard him.
“Docteur, please,” she reached past him and pointed to the cot next to hers. “My daughter…”
Combeferre turned and saw a little girl lying on her back. Her face was dirty and her long blond hair was frizzy and unkempt. Her lips were chapped and her sunken eyes were closed. Combeferre felt pity well up inside him. Help her, something inside him told him.
“Mon petite,” he whispered sadly and touched her cheek. It was warm. He took her wrist and felt a pulse, weak but unmistakable, and he quickly turned back to the mother. “What is her name?”
“Chantalle,” she sobbed before turning away, overcome.
Combeferre turned back to the child and shook her gently. “Chantalle, can you hear me, child?” He said. “Chantalle, mon petite. Open your eyes.”
The little girl grimaced and Combeferre shook her some more until finally she opened her eyes. Combeferre sighed in relief and pushed her hair out of her face. The little girl’s eyes were dull, and she heaved a small sigh as if to speak, but no sound came out. She licked her dry lips.
“You need water,” he said softly. As with the case of the old man from earlier, Combeferre let his training come to the fore. Making her as comfortable as he could, Combeferre pulled her cot closer to her mother’s where the older woman cried and pulled the little girl into her arms. He hunkered down next to them and assured the fretful woman.
“She will be all right, Madame,” he said. “We will take care of her.” He knew what to do and there was no time to lose. He looked up, trying to see if there was anybody who could help him, but other than Joly or Musichetta he didn’t know anyone else who worked here, and the nuns were nowhere to be seen. He stood up and quickly made his way to the next ward’s entrance and still found no one who could help him.
And he couldn’t wait for anyone. There was nobody, but him.
He looked back at the woman and the little girl and saw that her eyes had closed again. Without another word he exited the ward and made his way to where he knew the supplies were kept. All thoughts of going back to his own cot fled his mind as Combeferre gathered his wits about him and quickly went to work.