The next day, Grantaire was woken up early by his fiancee.

"I am sorry for yesterday," Charla began watching him like a hawk through the mirror of the vanity. "I don't know has gotten into me. I suppose small towns just aren't my thing."

Grantaire nodded. "You were worried I-"

"It's just that everyone knows everyone else's business… There is no privacy here. I can't imagine the gossip."

Grantaire had always thought Montfermeil had been a nice place growing up. Sure, everyone was pretty close knit...but as far as he was concerned there wasn't much gossip to deal with. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Well for instance there's that poor boy who was kicked out of law school because of his Communistic ideals-" Charla started haughtily.

"You mean Enjolras." There were a lot of things to be said about Enjolras' ideals, but R was pretty sure Communistic was not one of them.

"Precisely. What a sad, pathetic excuse for a man," Charla shook her head. "Besides his good looks I don't know what you ever saw in that man. He has no drive, no passion or ambition-"

"Enough, Charla." Grantaire said tiredly. "You don't know him."

"Neither do you." Charla turned to look at him directly. "You just remember him as your high school boyfriend who dumped you. If a loser like that dumped you what does that say about you, babe?"

Grantaire looked at his hands, jaw clenched.

"Precisely. Now get up. We have a lot to do today. Your mother is taking us around town to find the perfect reception hall. I texted Eponine and told her we would be there in ten, so hurry up." Charla hastily stood and made her way out of the room, leaving R alone.

Grantaire sighed. He had never thought of Enjolras as a loser. Especially now that he knew why Enjolras had come back...defeated as he was… he wasn't a loser. But that didn't make Charla's words sting any less. R knew that she was probably settling for him, he knew he wasn't that desirable. He had a shit sense of humor. He probably drank too much, was an insomniac who even at his best he still had to battle constantly with depression… He stood resolutely. There were some fates which were inescapable, and looking at old buildings seemed to be today's.

They picked up Eponine, R was driving with Charla riding shotgun, meaning that the young woman was forced to sit in the back besides Helene.

"Oh Eponine," the older woman cried. "You look absolutely charming! Did you get a new haircut?"

Eponine smiled kindly at the older woman, "yes awhile ago. I guess I haven't seen you recently, Helene. How have you been?"

"Wonderful, it's so nice to have R back at home. I only wish his sister could come and be apart of the planning the process." Helene commented.

R rolled his eyes. "You know Bianca is busy in Paris, maman."

"What's she doing there?" asked Charla, looking up from her magazine.

"She's studying abroad. I believe she got an internship at one of the major opera houses over there," Helene said.

"Really? Good for her," Eponine smiled. "I always knew she was talented enough."

Charla coughed slightly. "So where are we headed to first?"

"Bienvenu Cottage," Helene answered.

"I know I agreed to a country wedding," Charla started like she was talking to a child, "but in no means will it be small. Are you sure a cottage can hold 300 plus guests?"

Eponine laughed, "Bienvenu Cottage is just what we call it. Believe me, it ain't no cottage."

They rounded the bend to see a striking house before them. It was clearly built in the 19th century, with its long winding driveway under a tunnel of branches. At the end of the crushed shell drive, there stood a compact house made of orange brick so it looked like gold in the spring light. The large windows glinted brightly, and gauzy curtains blew in the wind. There were gas lamps beside the main doors. To the right there was a turret with a red slate roof, and flower boxes at the window.

"This house used to belong to the church, home to the minister and his family," Helene began. "It was passed down until it reached M. Myriel who decided to donate it to the community to be used for school dances, wedding receptions and the like. We decided to name it after him."

"Well his nickname. In Sunday school we all called him M. Bienvenu. He was so kind and welcoming to all," laughed Eponine.

Charla hummed. "Yes it certainly isn't a cottage, but I don't think it's quite right for us."

"Don't you want to see the interior. There are gorgeous old hardwood floors, and the patio in the back-" Helene was taken aback.

"No. I don't think it's impressive enough. We have some of my contacts flying in from Milan and Rome, even some curators from Paris. Not to mention all my friends from New York. No if we hold the reception here, I will be the laughing stock of my field." Charla protested resolutely.

"I don't see how our reception affects any of those people," R said with a frown. He was quite fond of Bienvenu Cottage. It was where he had gotten his first slow dance with Enjolras. He could remember dancing close enough to smell the mint on Enjolras' breath, to feel every breath he took as they swayed together… Perhaps this wasn't the right place to start his new married life with Charla. Too many bad (… good?…) memories

"Believe me, babe, it does. Next."

Helene frowned. "Alright dear, let's try The Halls next."

The Halls was located at the opposite end of town and was a large cement building that looked out of place in the sleepy town. However what made it so beautiful was that it was made up of countless windows, with heavy wrought iron bars across them. Whereas the Cottage had seemed ancient, the Halls were modern. Within the windows, the interior was lit softly through futuristic light fixtures that reflected off the marble floors. The Halls were urban and fresh, the antithesis to the Cottage, and precisely what Charla was looking for.

"This is it."

"Really?" asked Helene.

"Really?" asked Eponine.

"Yes. Back me up, babe," Charla stared hungrily at the building. It was just what she needed to prove to her friends that this hell hole wasn't a complete waste, that this sacrifice would bear fruit. She was to become rich through this marriage, so long as she kept R away from his Impressionistic painting style and continued to breed the abstract. They would make a fortune, and their networking depended on this reception. They would be able to live wherever they chose, New York, Paris, Milan, Florence, who cared...so long as it was far from him meddling mother and best friend, she would have to be wary of them.

Meanwhile R was speechless. He had always found The Halls to look like a prison. "Really? Here?"

"It's perfect," Charla said baring her teeth. "Let's go in."

Grantaire bit back a sigh as he parked and got out of the car. Charla led the way in, clutching her wedding binder, passing the magazines into Eponine's unready arms.

"Hello. My name is Charla de la Roche," she introduced herself to the secretary at the front desk, "and I am interested in having my wedding reception here."

The receptionist smiled. "Lovely! Now when will that be?"

"June 5th," Charla replied.

"June 5th!? Isn't that a bit soon?! When you said summer wedding I assumed August," Eponine said shocked.

Charla laughed. "There's no time like the present."

"Ma'am, do you mean June 5th of this year?" The receptionist said slowly.

Charla rolled her eyes, "yes of course."

"We aren't free til at least next fall at the latest." The young woman apologized.

Charla's eyes bulged, "what?"

"Most weddings usually book their locations well in-"

"I am not most weddings. I demand that my maid of honor and future mother-in-law sort this out with your superior," Charla replied.

"What?" Eponine asked.

Helene only looked mildly shocked.

The receptionist was majorly confused. "Alright...I suppose that's possible. Ladies, if you'd follow me?"

The two women left, leaving Charla and R alone. Immediately, Charla went behind the desk and pulled up the calendar which contained all the scheduled weddings.

"Charla," hissed R, "what are you doing?"

"I'm just seeing who has our date. That's all," Charla said pursing her lips. "Ah. It's the Marlowe-Warchus Wedding."

She jotted down the information, and closed the window just as the young woman came back with Eponine and Helene.

"Any luck?" Charla asked innocently.

"Like I said Ma'am-"

"Don't call me ma'am," Charla's eyes narrowed.

The receptionist sighed. "Miss? Like I said, miss, we are already booked. You only wasted a very busy man's schedule. Are you happy?"

Charla grinned like the cat that got the canary. "Quite. If anything comes up, please do let us know."

That evening Charla had pulled up an online phone book in search of one Melissa Warchus. When she glanced up from her computer she noticed R studying her with his sketchbook in hand. She may not be fond of his Impressionistic paintings, but his real life studies and sketches of her she treasured. She had once posed for him nude, and made him promise that no one would ever see the sketch until after her death. She was funny like that.

Grantaire curled up on the couch with his sketch book and used soft charcoal to draw. At first they were abstract lines and shapes, but the longer he drew the more defined they became. Page after page was filled with Enjolras' face, but they were always marred. In one the nose was all wrong, and the next one the smile was off. A third one, and he had disfigured the blond's lovely curls. He crumpled the pages angrily. With a fresh sheet he tried to draw his fiancee, certainly a sketch of her would appease her, but the eyes were all wrong. They were passionate and fierce, like Charla's, but they weren't quite right. They were too broken, to similar to ones he had last seen at the Cafe Musain. How had he never realized they had been so similar?

Charla moved from her spot in the armchair and placed a hand gently on R's arm. "is that my portrait? It's lovely Grantaire. You always have drawn me so well."

Grantaire felt suffocated. "I need to go."

Charla frowned. "Are you sure? We just got back home."

"I need to find some inspiration," Grantaire muttered.

"Am I not enough?" Charla sounded like she was teasing but with how things had been going, Grantaire couldn't tell.

He kissed her soft cheek before grabbing some things and wandering about. He had no clear destination, but found himself standing outside the Cafe Musain anyhow. Perhaps it was his subconscious that had led him there, or his fingers aching to perfect the sketches from before. Either way he found himself standing outside the brightly lit cafe, looking in on a scene that was intimate. One he would hate to walk in on.

Inside, Enjolras was standing at the head of a table talking easily with Courfeyrac and a man he did not know. Combeferre was by his side taking cups from Cosette and passing them along to Jehan and the others. It seemed just like high school, the only ones missing were Bahorel and Eponine and himself. Grantaire felt his throat constrict, his fingers fell numb.

"R, is that you?"

Grantaire turned to see Bahorel, just as eager and big as before.

"Bahor-" he couldn't even finish his words before he was swept into a large hug.

"God, man. Ep told me you were back, thought I might have run into you at the gym by now." Bahorel stopped for a moment and looked at what Grantaire was still staring at. "Oh, the meetings. Are you coming in?"

"I don't know if I could," confessed R.

"Come, drink with me. Do the others know you're here?"

Grantaire shrugged. "I ran into Enjolras. I'm sure he's told the Triumvirate by now."

Bahorel laughed. "I had forgotten we had called them that. Come in, it'll be just like old times."

Grantaire sighed, "are you sure I won't be intruding."

"You were one of Enjolras' merry men before, I am sure he will welcome you back," Bahorel jested.

"I wasn't one of his merry men, in your analogy I am Maid Marian…and I certainly am not that to him. Not anymore."

Bahorel studied his friend silently. R had been gone a long time, but he hadn't changed… not really. Enjolras on the other hand, had mellowed having been defeated by the world, but some things hadn't changed. His feelings toward the brunet being one of them. It took a long time for Bahorel to be okay with what Enjolras had done to R, but when Jehan told him the truth his large heart had only pitied the two of them. He just wished he had been allowed to tell Eponine. Of course Jehan made him promise not to. There was no way of telling Eponine without her telling R...and if he knew the truth, he would be back in Enjolras' arms far from New York… Bahorel sighed. What a mess. "Come in, they will want to see an old friend."

Grantaire let himself be dragged into the brightly lit cafe. Chatter stopped almost immediately.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Courfeyrac said breaking the silence. "Good to see you R."

"I am no cat," Bahorel chuckled heartily.

"Perhaps not. Perhaps you are more of a panther," mused Courfeyrac, referring to both his size and coloring.

Combeferre just rolled his eyes. "It's nice to see you, Grantaire."

Grantaire shrugged. "Don't mind me. I'll just be sitting in the back."

The friends nodded, and mostly returned to what they were doing. Cosette, the blonde hostess he had met before, glided over to him with a mug in her hands. She placed it before him.

"Hiya stranger," she said easily. "Come to watch our leader at work?"

R shook his head. "I'm not really sure why I'm here. I am sorry if I'm intruding on anything important."

Cosette laughed. "Oh not really. Enj hasn't been his self of late. We can hardly blame him though. Jeanne's condition is getting worse, and it's clear he's worried about her."

"I visited her a few days ago," R said softly.

Cosette's eyes brightened, "Oh I can see why he's gone for you. You are just the sweetest."

"What?" R was sure he had misheard her.

The young woman's hand flew up to her mouth. "Nothing. I… forget it. I just hope she lasts long enough to see Enj settled."

"Settled?" repeated Grantaire.

Cosette nodded. "When I visited her last, she said she wanted to see Enjolras taken care of. She said it was the only thing keeping her on the meds."

"He has his friends," R said, looking around the room.

Cosette shook her head. "I thought that too. Then I talked to my Papa. He's wise about these things. He explained that if he were in her place, and it was me working myself to the bone for him… he would want me to find someone who always had my best interests at heart. He reminded me that friends give an important kind of love, but a parent wants their child to find a love that even when you aren't feeling loving you still put them above you."

Grantaire frowned. "I am afraid that I still don't follow."

Cosette looked like she was thinking hard for a moment. The she started again. "Marriage isn't always about being in love. Like yeah that's what starts it, but that doesn't always last. You get into fights about stupid things, important things, things that seem important and aren't, things that are seem stupid but are important... and you don't feel in love anymore. But you should be with someone that even when you fight, you still want to choose to be loving. You can always be loving, even if you aren't in love."

Grantaire looked at the young woman. "One day I would very much like to meet your father."

Cosette beamed, it meant her message had gotten through. "So your fiancee…?"

"What about her?"

"Even when you're angry, do you choose to be loving?" Cosette raised a brow. R's pause was all the answer she needed. "My father would be happy to talk to you and her. If you'd like I can give you his card.

R nodded dazedly. From her pocket she pulled out a card which read "Jean Valjean" and underneath it in small print "beekeeper/marriage counselor".

Grantaire smiled, and resolved that he would not need either of Mr. Valjean's services. After all why try and fix what isn't broken?

For the rest of the meeting Grantaire drew. He drew more than he had in all his time at home. These weren't just rough sketches, he fleshed them out as much as he could. He captured Combeferre's posture, so similar to the boy he knew from high school, and Courfeyrac's smile. He drew Jehan laughing with Cosette. But the drawing he spent the longest on was Enjolras'. Where his previous sketches had been all wrong, this one was right. Here, in the middle of his own personal Cabinet, Enjolras was once again the passionate boy he had fallen in love with. Sure, there were more lines around his face, and a tiredness to his posture, but for right now there was a fire in his eyes which would not go out. Grantaire watched from his corner, perfectly content for the first time all day.

For the entirety of the meeting Enjolras was distracted. He hadn't expected R to come here...hadn't expected Bahorel to invite him in. Enjolras watched R like a hawk. He noticed that Grantaire had brought a sketchbook along and was drawing. This brought a small smile to his lips as he remembered all the meetings in high school when R had come along bringing his dog eared sketchbook. Enjolras remembered the thrill and honor he had had when R finally allowed him to page through it, he could never believe that Grantaire really saw him like that…or he had once upon a time, that is.

Enjolras still had several drawings of him that R had given to him as keepsakes. He treasured them, and whenever he began to loath himself he would bring them out again.

No, he hadn't expected R to come here, not tonight. But he was glad for his presence.

At home, Charla went into her shared bedroom and began dialing the number she had found. "Hello is this Melissa Warchus?"

"Yes, who's asking?"

"You don't know me, but I know your fiance, Liam Marlowe," Charla said with a smirk. "He and I have quite a history. I thought you should know, girl to girl, he has never been one for monogamy not even in bed."

The young woman let out a gasp.

"Shall I recount our exploits? I believe last time he beat and gagged me and another man together-"

"Who are you?" Melissa cried.

"I am just giving you a warning. Liam may seem like a good man, but believe me, no matter how gorgeous you are you will never be enough for him. Anytime you go out he will be looking, hoping that you will let another share your bed, and if not he will go find anyone and not tell you." Melissa was crying at this point and Charla's smirk grew at the sound. "I suggest you call off the wedding and leave the scum bag to sluts like me, who are willing to do whatever it takes."

Charla hung up. Now she just had to wait.