A/N: An apology: I didn't mean to leave this story for so long. However, thanks to revision it was just easier for me to focus on the story I was having lots of ideas for, and I kinda lost the first part of this when I wrote it originally. Hopefully now I've stood down from college I will have the time to write more and I can update this more quickly.
Warnings: This chapter includes stuff about drug withdrawal. All I know about this has come from research I've done this past month.
All political views in this chapter belong solely to the characters and are not necessarily my own. I end up in enough political debates at college without arguing my views here as well.
Grantaire was determined to quit, he really was, but the first night in his new flat he came close to giving in. The urge to just go back to his last flat, or even find a dealer somehow, was growing stronger and stronger by the minute and it was all Grantaire could do to fight it. He wasn't doing it for himself - he'd long since stopped caring about his own life - but for Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Grantaire knew how disappointed his friends would be at him if he failed in this, could remember clearly the horror and anger present in Courfeyrac and Combeferre's eyes respectively, and had no desire to see those expressions again anytime soon.
He'd already fallen once, before even leaving his old home. Whilst he'd told Combeferre he'd stop taking the drugs he hadn't been able to stick to it, not even for the three days he'd stayed before moving out. The cravings had struck almost as soon as he woke up the first morning clean. They were crippling and he could do nothing but curl up on his bed and try to hold himself together. That was how he had been found by Garth in the late afternoon when his friend had got worried by the fact he hadn't seen Grantaire all day. Grantaire had looked a mess, his hair stuck to his face with sweat as he tried desperately to ignore the aches and stabs of pain tearing through his body.
Grantaire had barely lasted two days since his last fix when he gave in, taking the needle Garth had left on his bedside and injecting it into his arm with shaking hands.
Obviously he hadn't told Combeferre, didn't want to lower himself any lower in his friend's estimations, but Combeferre had known all the same by the lack of symptoms present when he showed up to help Grantaire move. He'd said nothing, simply sighed and asked again if Grantaire was sure.
Grantaire was.
The move from Montparnasse's flat to one of his very own was what Grantaire considered as his new start. He'd sworn to himself as he left that that was it. From that moment on, he was going to be clean.
The fact that he'd already given in once was what kept Grantaire going that first night. The shame he'd felt afterwards was clinging to him still and made him strong enough to somehow make it to the morning, though he didn't manage to get any sleep whatsoever.
When he heard the doorbell ring, Grantaire forced himself to stand and make his way over, blinking tiredly at Courfeyrac who was standing there awkwardly.
"Er, hi," Courfeyrac mumbled, flashing Grantaire a quick smile. "How are you?"
"Take a fucking guess," Grantaire sighed, holding the door open for him.
"Right. Stupid question." Courfeyrac hovered for a moment before entering the flat, hesitating again before hugging his friend. "You'll survive. I know you will."
"Well I'm glad someone does," Grantaire tried to joke, but the weakness in his tone made the comment fall flat. "How's Jehan?" he asked quickly, trying to draw his friend away from the minefield that was their previous topic of conversation. Courfeyrac latched onto the new topic immediately, more than happy to swap onto this. He wasn't used to not knowing what to say but when it came to Grantaire and his drug usage, Courfeyrac felt himself clamming up instantly.
"He's good, just got his results back from the January exams. Passed them all, clever sod, even though he's taking crazy number of subjects and won't listen to anyone's advice to drop one."
Grantaire let him babble on about random things when he'd finished talking about Jehan, though Courfeyrac knew better than to let the conversation steer anywhere near to Enjolras, bar to say, "'Ferre says that if you're okay you're to go round to his at weekend for dinner or something. He's the flat to himself - E went to stay with a cousin or some other relative because he's work experience on the other side of the city. Honestly I just reckon 'Ferre wants some male company, stuck alone in the flat with only two girls for company. Crazy git."
"Maybe," Grantaire offered as an answer after a few seconds silence, not wanting to either accept the invitation due to how he still felt but also not wanting to refuse for fears that Courfeyrac would hear that and blow up how ill Grantaire felt.
As good a friend as Courfeyrac was and no matter how much Grantaire enjoyed his company, Grantaire was still thankful when he left after an hour and a half, the subjects of conversation available to them having dried up ten minutes before. Grantaire closed the door behind him with a final farewell and turned to lean back against it, sinking to the floor and resting his head against his knees almost immediatel afterward.
"Fuck," he mumbled, hands forming fists and nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood as he once again fought the wave of need that washed over him.
By the following morning those nails had been bitten down to almost nothingness in an attempt to distill the cravings as Grantaire once again failed to sleep. It was that day when the nausea started, Grantaire spending two hours curled up in a ball in his bathroom, occasionally leaning over to throw up.
On the third day, he couldn't take it anymore. He hadn't eaten anything for days yet couldn't stop from retching and sometimes bringing up a bit of bile, he daren't leave the bathroom for longer than fifteen minutes due to the diarrhea that had started during the night, he had yet to manage to sleep, and the cramps and muscle aches were never ending. The anxiety he felt was crushing, an agitated Grantaire unable to stop checking the door to make sure it really was locked. What he was afraid of he couldn't say, but it just wouldn't subside.
Grabbing his jacket, Grantaire practically ran out of the house, heading for the bar he'd heard his previous flatmates discussing. Once inside he skulked in a corner, a massive internal debate going on inside his head before he finally approached the man who looked to be the most likely candidate for a dealer.
It took the man just one quick glance at Grantaire before he was laughing loudly, Grantaire's look of intense need, flushed face and dilated pupils giving him away instantly.
"Tired of trying to quit boy?" he chuckled, laughing even more at Grantaire's sheepish nod. "Bloody foolish of you if you ask me. Take some advice off me - don't bother. Here, you'll feel better after this." He threw a small bag at Grantaire. "First one's on me, simply because you look like shit. After this, you pay. I'm here every night after seven." He raised one eyebrow after Grantaire didn't just thank him and leave straight away. "Can I help?"
"I need a needle," Grantaire muttered, so quiet the dealer almost couldn't hear him.
"Babet! A needle for my young friend here." Grantaire nervously accepted the needle shoved towards him by the tower of a man standing behind the dealer, mumbling his thanks to them both. "Now get out."
Grantaire wasted no time, dashing home as fast as he could and preparing the heroin as quickly as he dared, not knowing he'd been seen at the bar.
He slumped down against the front of the sofa as he injeected the drug into his arm, feeling every muscle in his body relax as it entered his system and spread throughout his body. Grantaire sighed with relief as he felt himself finally start to slip away into a sleep he'd craved for days.
Enjolras paced round the room he'd been told to wait in, unable to stay still as he took in everything he could as he gazed up at the walls.
"Welcome to Westminster," a voice said from behind him, making the student jump and spin. "I take it this is your first visit?" the woman standing there inquired, making her way over towards him.
"Yes," he replied, shaking the hand she offered. "I'm Enjolr-"
"I know who you are. I'm Miss Gray, Mr. Parson's personal assistant." Enjolras couldn't help it. At the news of who he'd be working with his jaw dropped slightly, making Amy Gray smile slightly. "His meeting finishes in five minutes. If you'd follow me, I'll take you to his office."
Enjolras followed silently for once. Carl Parsons was famous for his unrelentless attack whenever he chose to speak out against someone or something. Though only twenty-seven he'd replaced Dennis Skinner at the previous elections when the Labour MP spoke of his desire to finally retire, and within weeks had inherited not only his seat but also his nickname - the Beast of Bolsover. Enjolras had been following his career since he'd first been mentioned as a candidate to replace Skinner and was so excited at having the chance to meet him that he hadn't even noticed they'd arrived at an office until a strong voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Ah, Amy. That meeting solved nothing, I need you to pass on a message to Frank telling him so along with this folder."
"Yes sir," she replied smartly, taking the folder from him and leaving instantly. Enjolras hesitated in the doorway, not sure as to what he was meant to do now.
"Well don't just stand there boy, we haven't all day," Carl snapped, looking Enjolras up and down as he entered the room and closed the door smartly behind him. He looked like just another rich pretty boy who'd be better off shadowing some Conservative back-bencher who took their nanny out canvassing with them, but if Lamarque had sent him then Enjolras must be something different. "So you're the student Lamarque suggested I choose. You're the first one I've accepted since being elected, so you'd better not let him down."
"I won't sir," Enjolras said confidently. "What exactly am I going to be doing this week?"
"Following me, what else do you think shadowing someone means?" Carl rolled his eyes. "Dear God, I thought you were meant to be intelligent." He glanced over at his clock and stood. "Come on, I've fifteen minutes spare. I'll give you a quick tour so you won't get lost, and you can tell me what you think of the bills our idiot of a Prime Minister wants to bring in."
Their talk that first morning had felt like something of a test, a test which Enjolras could confidently say he had passed as by the time they reached Carl's office again, he was starting to look at the student with some respect in his eyes. What Enjolras didn't know was that his answers to Carl's questions had determined what jobs he would have to do that week, rescuing him from the boring jobs normally reserved for students and instead elavating him to what Amy nicknamed "the fun stuff", with Enjolras accompanying Carl to various meetings (both formal and not) and writing up notes on everything he heard.
Wednesday morning he was starting to prepare for his lunch break when Carl called him over.
"Make yourself look smart," he told Enjolras. "We're going to PMQs."
"Am I even allowed in?" Enjolras asked, shocked. "I mean, I thought only MPs were allowed in."
"I talked the Speaker into allowing it. Bercow's a good enough man and agrees that you'll learn far more from this than from sitting in my office waiting for me to come back. I have a question in for today as well, hopefully I'll get to ask it."
"Well if I have permission, then I'll gladly come," Enjolras said with a grin. To actually enter the House of Commons would be a dream come true.
"Lamarque said I'd like you," Carl said thoughtfully as they made their way through Westminster. "I didn't think I'd agree with him, so well done on changing my mind. Have I changed yours yet?"
"On becoming a politician?" Enjolras shook his head. "No, though I'd like to be able to actually change things."
"If you can't change things, then make them sweat," Carl told him. "That's my belief."
Once inside the House of Commons, Carl had to nudge Enjolras to stop him from staring around him in amazement, nudging him towards their seats on the front row of the Labour benches. Enjolras could hear the whispers starting at his entrance but ignored the backbenchers completely, instead focusing on the main players standing nearby, deep in discussion.
"The Prime Minister is incapable of answering a straight question," Carl murmured in Enjolras's ear, making sure no-one else could hear him. "Or at least, none of us think he is. His deputy is as big an idiot as him, if not more, but we don't have to deal with him today. The Speaker is the only Conservative in this building who knows what he's talking about really, shame he can't join debates."
Just then, the Speaker himself stood and ordered silence for the Prime Minister's opening speech before opening the floor to questions. Enjolras sat in silence, simply listening and taking in everything said around him as every question was successfull deflected. Then he heard the words:
"The Right Honourable Member for Bolsover."
Carl stood and twisted slightly so he was facing towards the Prime Minister fully, hand already slightly raised as he set off.
"We are only one year into Tory rule and yet the number of billionaires in this recession-hit Britain has gone up by twenty - an increase of 37%! Whilst out there, in the real world, inflation has gone up through the roof, there are no jobs available to honest hard-working British people, thousands of blind people are having to march through the streets of London in order to simply hang on to their disability living allowance - the only thing helping them survive in some cases. How is this acceptable? What a savage indictment of this lousy, rotten-"
It was at this point that Carl was drowned out in the noise coming from the previous benches. He sat back down next to Enjolras, a small but satisfied smile flashing across his face as the Speaker stood and demanded order and silence before the Prime Minister stood to reply, completely skirting round every topic Carl had brought up as he did so.
"Well that was a success," Carl said conversationally as the pair left the House and headed back up to his office.
"A success?" Enjolras repeated. "But you were cut off and he didn't answer anything."
"Maybe, but it's given the people that little bit more fuel to use against him, especially seeing as how he answered nothing. In politics, that counts as a success. If you bring enough things to the notice of the people, both those inside the House and outside, then you can eventually bring about change."
"That friend of yours, Grantaire," Eponine had started, glancing over at Combeferre as she served him his Mocha. "You should probably know, he's doing drugs."
"I know," Combeferre replied, taking a sip and wincing at how hot the drink was, wondering if he'd ever learn to leave the coffee to cool slightly before trying to drink it. "But he quit."
She shook her head quickly. "'Ferre, you don't understand, I saw him. Yesterday. He was at my parent's bar, and I watched my father give him drugs. He looked rough so that's probably why."
Combeferre stared at her for a moment before bolting for the doors. He ran through the streets, grateful for the crosscountry he'd taken part in during college which meant he wasn't completely out of breath when he arrived at Grantaire's flat. Hammering at the door, he waited for all of ten seconds before knocking again and was seriously considering knocking the door down when Grantaire finally pulled it open.
"Wha-" he started demanding, but he trailed off into silence when he saw Combeferre standing there, grim expression in place. "Oh," he sighed, trying to work out the chances of his escape. Realising just how low they were, he opened the door even more and stepped back. "You'd best come in."
"You're a bloody idiot," Combeferre hissed as soon as he was inside, only just managing to curb the urge to grab Grantaire by the collar and shake. "Do you want to kill yourself? Because there are easier, and cheaper, ways of doing so. Think about your sister. How would Amalia feel about you lying here dead from some overdose?" He jabbed at Grantaire's chest with one finger. "There was a reason why you quit."
"Yeah, because you told me to," Grantaire snapped back. "I tried, okay? I tried, and I failed. End of story."
"Then end of me helping," Combeferre said firmly, voice slightly cold on purpose. "I warned you, 'Taire. I'm only helping you if you're clean. There's no way I'm helping you kill yourself."
"But I can't do this!"
"Yes you can!" They were both practically shouting by now. "I have faith that you can! I told you to ring me if you ever needed help with this, so why the heck didn't you?"
"Because I didn't want you to think me weak!"
"Oh, and you giving in and getting high is going to make me not think you weak is it?"
The pair glared at each other, breathing heavily.
"You can do this," Combeferre insisted. "I know you can."
"Not on my own I can't," Grantaire admitted with a small shrug. "I proved that."
"Then you stay with me for a couple of days whilst I sort something out. Enjolras is under a week into his work experience trip so you won't bump into him, relax." Combeferre helped Grantaire to grab a few clothes after the artist had hesitated and nodded slightly, before holding the front door open and locking the flat behind them.
"How did you know?" Grantaire asked quietly once they were driving back to Combeferre's.
"Eponine, the waitress at our cafe and a friend of ours, saw you. You bought the drugs off her father," Combeferre explained.
"So what do I do now?" came after a moment's silence. "Because I think I've made it pretty damn obvious I can't be trusted on my own. I'm not strong enough."
"I think I have you a flatmate," Combeferre told him. "Yes, I know that flat is only small, but it'll only be until you're clean. Tomorrow I'm going to see if he's willing to do it, but he did say he was looking for a new flat."
"What the fuck did I do to deserve friends like all of you?" he mumbled finally. Combeferre laughed at that.
"Be awesome to us for a year," Combeferre said simply with a small shrug. Grantaire opened his mouth to argue before sighed and closing it again. For once, he was going to just accept a compliment.
"So let me get this straight," Bossuet said, transferring his mobile to his other hand. "Your friend is addicted to heroin, tried and failed quitting, and now you want me to move into his one-room flat to keep an eye on him and try and help him to not quit again."
"Pretty much, yeah." Combeferre sighed. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I weren't desperate. Hell, if it weren't for Enjolras I'd have him stay here for a couple of weeks, but Enjolras would just make thing worse. And you said the other week you were looking for a new flat because you were with a load of wanker."
"True..." Bossuet considered the proposition for a moment. "I get to meet him first, and inspect the flat."
"Deal."
"And you warn him about my bad luck beforehand."
Combeferre chuckled. "Okay, deal." He paused before continuing more quietly. "Thank you Bossuet. I owe you one, big time."
"More like your friend does," Bossuet grumbled, but he didn't correct him completely. Bossuet was more than happy to help out though, even if it meant living with someone he didn't really know. He trusted Combeferre not to send him to an axe murderer and, at the end of the day, Bossuet was always cheerful and happy with his lot in life. If he could help someone else to be the same, especially someone as embroiled in drugs as Grantaire, then he was satisfied.
By the end of the fortnight Enjolras was wishing he could stay forever. Whilst he had originally been unsure what direction to take his degree in, after working with Carl Parson for only a week Enjolras could see why Lamarque was so passionate about Politics.
"Tell you what," Carl started on his last afternoon, just before Enjolras was due to leave. "This summer, if you're free, you can come and work with me again for a few weeks. It'll be in my constituancy instead of here, but it'll give you more experience. What do you think?"
"I'd love it," Enjolras replied with a smile, shaking Carl's hand firmly. "Thank you sir."
"Then I'll contact you about it closer to the date. Here's my e-mail. Any questions about something Politics-based which Lamarque can't answer, feel free to ask, and I'll see you in the summer."
Enjolras left Westminster and headed for home, not knowing the dramas which had passed during the two weeks he'd been away.
A/N: While Dennis Skinner and John Bercow are real people, Carl Parson isn't, hence why the others are only mentioned by name instead of featuring properly. Dennis Skinner hasn't retired, I just didn't want to write a real person in but love his rants so much. Carl's rant at PMQs (Prime Minister's Questions) is mostly stolen from one of Skinner's, with a few words changed and a couple of bits added in.