Warning: mentions of attempted suicide, also really really insensitive comments to someone about depression/attempted suicide, manipulative/verbal abuse, also casually throwing around mental illness like it's something you can control...um yeah Charla is a bitch...

Grantaire got home first, and waited for Charla to return from New York. He didn't have to wait long. Soon enough he heard her stumble into the house, shutting the door loudly behind her. She teetered down the hall, but stopped when he called out to her. "14,000 dollars. Really, Charla? We don't have that kind of money."

"Hello, babe," Charla giggled as she approached him. "I found the most beautiful dress- hic- you'll just lov-"

"Charla, are you drunk?" R asked seriously.

She shrugged. "It was just a glass or two of champagne. To celebrate finding the dress."

Grantaire frowned. "Did you drive home?"

Charla nodded. "What's the harm? I'm just a bit tipsy."

Grantaire rubbed his eyes. "I am not having this conversation tonight. Get to bed. I'll bring you water and an aspirin for tomorrow."

"Oh please," scoffed Charla. "I'm not even drunk."

"Yes but you know how I feel about driving while under the influence," Grantaire said, herding her to bed.

Charla whipped around to look him in the face. "Is this about that girl you hit last year? She didn't even die."

"She was in intensive care for months, Charla. She had to go to physical therapy," Grantaire explained patiantly.

"Whatever. I would like to point out they didn't even sue you for the money. You offered it," Charla slurred. "Talk about wasting money."

"Of course, it was the right thing to do-"

"The right thing would have been setting it aside for our wedding," Charla argued. "Then I could have gotten my dress without this guilt trip."

"Charla, you don't mean that," Grantaire started.

"Oh yes I do. You always keep talking about this girl so much. You quit drinking for her, started going to AA for her. Hell you even get coffee with her, and check in with her. What about me? What have you done for me?"

"Charla, you're drunk," begged Grantaire, wishing for this conversation to be over.

"When I tell you to stop going off your meds, do you listen? Or when I ask you to take out the garbage? Or that I wanted to get married in NEW YORK not some HELL HOLE in the middle of nowhere, did you listen to me then, R," she sneered his nickname. "No. You go off your meds and then want to off yourself. You make me stop work so that I can make sure you don't slit your wrists or OD. You never do household chores, because you're too depressed or in an artistic fervor. It's like you're fucking bipolar...only you aren't crazy enough for those meds, I checked. I am always cleaning up after you. Your paint. Your life. Your vomit and blood when you attempt suicide. God you can't even get that right. And then you brought me here to meet your parents. You swore they were good loving people, and I believed you. I should have known your mother was a manipulative bitch. I can see why you're depressed now. I can't even imagine what your childhood must have been like. She's got you and your father wrapped around her finger. Poor man is blind and useless. He's only good for shit jokes. Guess I see where you get it from."

"Charla, stop." Grantaire croaked.

Charla merely glared at him before stomping off to bed. In the doorway, Grantaire caught his mother's eye. She had been awakened by the screaming and had come to investigate.

"She doesn't mean those things maman," Grantaire said tiredly. "She's just drunk."

Helene looked concerned. There were so many things she wanted to ask. Is she always like this when she drinks? Did you really try to kill yourself so many times? Why did you bring her here? Why do you love her? Why are you marrying her? Why? Why? Why?… Instead she asked, "did you really hit a girl last year?"

R looked a little relieved that they were addressing this, and not Charla's behavior. "Yeah. I did. Charla and I were on vacation, and I was feeling awful. So I went out to a bar to get something to drink. I thought I would be fine, but I totaled the rental car, and almost crushed the girl I had hit. Her name is Alice. We meet up occasionally to talk about life, theology, the future..."

"Sounds like she should meet Jean," Helene was smiling.

"Prouvaire? They would hit it off instantly," R said, his smile returning.

"And you have stopped drinking?"

"After almost killing her, I couldn't bear to pick up another bottle of liquor," confessed Grantaire. "Alice has supported me. Thank God her family could see it in their hearts to forgive me. You'll meet them at the wedding."

"Get to bed, R," Helene said pulling her sweater around her more tightly. "You've had a long night."

"I must get water for Charla. She'll have a headache in the morning if I don't," R said.

"She'll have one even if you do," mused Helene dryly. "She deserves it."

"You don't mean that."

"No one calls my man useless," Helene said sharply. "Either of my men."

R blushed a little. He went over to his mother and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, maman. Have a good night."

Helene's smile stayed on her lips til her son had left the room. She made her way back to the kitchen where she had left her phone. She dialed the number, damning the expenses.

"Bianca?"

"Maman?" a drowsy voice replied on the end of the line.

"I am sorry for waking you, but I need you to come home," Helene said.

"What? R's wedding isn't for months, I don't need to be there for a couple weeks," Bianca yawned.

Distantly Helene could hear a girl asking, "B? Who's that?"

"Look, this girl is all wrong for R. I need you're help in getting him-"

"You know R is stubborn. Nothing I could say-"

"Not true, Bianca. Come home. Soon," pleaded Helene.

Bianca let out a sigh. "I'll see what I can do."

Helene smiled. "Good."

"Is that all?"

"Tell your girlfriend that I am excited to meet her when you fly over-"

"Ugh."

Bianca hung up the phone. Helene just sighed. Perhaps she was a bit manipulative, but she was starting to get worried for Grantaire.

In his bedroom, R watched the sleeping form of his fiancee. He knew she had said those words to hurt him, and that she didn't really mean them...but it worked. He was hurting. Less for what she had aimed at him, and more of what she had said about his parents. He couldn't imagine not bringing his children home for the holidays to see them, or having them be a part of their life. He looked at how peaceful Charla was… she didn't mean those things. She was drunk after all. She hadn't really meant for those words to hurt as much as they did. She was drunk, he could put up with this...it's not like he could do any better. Who would want him with his anxiety and depression? No one, he knew that. He knew that she knew. No, she hadn't meant what she had said. Not really. Not really. Not really. But a small voice in his head asked "and if she did…?"

Grantaire shook his head. He crawled into bed with her, his brain repeating her words:

"I am always cleaning up after you. Your paint. Your life. Your vomit and blood when you attempt suicide. God you can't even get that right."

He turned over, hoping that sleep, like morphine, would numb the pain in his chest.

Enjolras woke up feeling loose limbed and content. It had been a long time since he was this happy. However when he rolled over, he found his bed was empty. On the pillow beside him was a note.

"Last night was fun. I'll be in town for a little while longer, call me if you are ever lonely again: xxx-555-6774. Or you can find me at the B&B, room 134. ~F."

Enjolras let out a small smile. He stretched, allowing himself to enjoy the soreness in his leg muscles and ass. He slowly rose and got dressed for his morning shift at Feuilly's. He padded out to the kitchen to find Courfeyrac already there.

"Sounds like someone had fun last night," Courfeyrac said with a cheeky smile.

"Mm, it was divine," Enjolras said pouring his coffee.

Courfeyrac laughed, Enjolras wasn't usually like this. "So do you think you'll ever see him again?"

"He said he was interested if I ever got lonely," Enjolras replied easily. "He left me his number."

Courfeyrac's smile dimmed. "So, do you think you're gonna use it?"

Enjolras' back was turned, so he didn't see his friend's concern. "If he can bring me to pleasure like that? Probably."

"So you're really fine having sex like this," Courfeyrac stated.

At the somber tone, Enjolras turned. "What's wrong with casual sex? You seem to have it all the time with men you meet in bars."

"I am not hung up on my high school sweetheart."

"Neither am I," Enjolras said raising a brow.

Courfeyrac paused. "You mean you are over R. Completely?"

"Yes..well no. But I am working on getting over him. He's about to be married Courf. I can't keep making myself miserable like this by waiting for something that's not going to happen."

Courfeyrac nodded. "Okay. Okay. I get it Enj...just be careful with this guy, okay?"

Enjolras smiled weakly. "Thanks, Courf. I gotta go, Feuilly will be expecting me soon."

Coufeyrac nodded. "Bye Enj."

Once the blond had left, Courfeyrac called up Combeferre. "Hey, Ferre."

"What's up?" Combeferre asked. "You sound worried."

"Enjolras brought home a man from the Corinth last night. I think he's trying to get over R," Courfeyrac explained.

"Isn't that a good thing. We wanted him to move on-"

"But like this? The guy sounds like some skeevy fuck buddy, and that he is taking advantage of Enjolras. I don't like it Ferre."

"What can we do? Enjolras needs to make his own mistakes, live his own life. You've got to admit this is better than him pining over an engaged man," Combeferre said slowly.

Courfeyrac sighed. "I suppose. I'm just worried for him."

"We'll look out for him. Make sure he doesn't get hurt, and if he does we'll be there for him when he needs us. For now, that's all we can do."

"When did you get so wise?" marveled Courfeyrac.

"I've always been wise," joked Combeferre. "Now I have to go. Call me if anything develops."

After Enjolras' shift at Feuilly's he rode his bike back to the Cafe Musain. Through the large glass windows he could already see R was sitting there. He appeared to be talking with Jehan, who looked like he was on his way out. Enjolras could feel his heart pounding, but he was less afraid than he had been when Grantaire had fallen back into his life.

"Good afternoon," he said as he passed Jehan.

The other man smiled. "Afternoon!"

Enjolras went to the back room to put away his things. As he went to go take some orders, a hand reached out to grab his arm.

"R?" he sounded slightly strangled, and prayed that Grantaire couldn't tell.

"I was hoping we could talk. I've seen you so much recently, but we haven't caught up. I would like to if you'd be amenable."

Enjolras was shocked. "Um."

"Look, I know you're at work right now, but maybe sometime in the evening –?" started R.

"I have night shifts."

"Is there any time you aren't working?" R laughed nervously.

"I'll, um … I'll get back to you. Nice seeing you R."

Enjolras walked, ran, away. Grantaire slumped into his booth. He was worried about his friend. Enjolras seemed so tired every time he had run into him. Grantaire had a suspicion that he was working himself to the bone because of Jeanne's bills, and he wished there was something he could do to help. Grantaire sighed. He had tried reaching out, and he supposed he would try again, but Enjolras' slight rejection had hurt him more than he would care to admit.

"Funny seeing you here," it was Cosette and seemed to be holding hands with a tall gangly man, Grantaire didn't recognize. "Grantaire, this is Marius. We were just on our way out, but mind if we sit for a minute."

Grantaire shook his head. "Nice to meet you Marius."

The young man nodded.

"So why are you here?" asked Cosette. She looked around the cafe, to see Enjolras serving a table across the way. "Or can I guess?"

"Me and my fiancee had this huge fight," Grantaire frowned. "Or rather we were about to, but she was drunk and I just didn't want to fight with her then. But when she woke up she acted like nothing happened. I suppose she forgot. Anyway I just had to get out of the house."

Cosette's smile had disappeared. "Oh, sweetheart! I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, it's not a big deal. There are some things we need to discuss-"

"Have you considered meeting with my father? He is very good at his job," Cosette said earnestly.

"I don't think we need a marriage counselor, Cosette."

"I-"

"Cosette. Let's go," Marius said pulling the girl away. Possibly for the first time ever, Marius had correctly read the situation and had acted with tact.

Grantaire shot him a grateful look.

"Alright. Bye, Grantaire. I hope you and Charla can work things out."

As if Cosette had cast a magic spell, Charla entered the restaurant with a large pair of sunglasses, and a black sunhat on her head. Slowly she made her way over to Grantaire's table.

"I thought I would find you here."

"Charla, about last night –"

"No. Let me. I should apologize for the dress. I know we had a budget, but it was so perfect. I know you'll love it, Grantaire. I just had to get it. I want our wedding to be perfect," Charla said. "And for the drinking… Eponine didn't know how much I had drunk, otherwise I am sure she would have stopped me. I know you don't like drunk drivers, but I didn't think anything was going to happen. I am sorry babe. Am I forgiven?"

Grantaire would have been a jerk to say no to such an earnest apology, he would have felt like shit to drag this argument out longer than necessary… after all she was offering him an out. "Yes, Charla. Of course you are forgiven."

"Thank you babe."

"But what you said last night, about my parents – "

"What did I say?" Charla asked cocking her head.

"What do you remember from when you got home?"

Charla thought for a moment. "I remember you screaming at me for the cost of my dress. I know we argued about it, but you sent me to bed realizing I was drunk. Was there anything else?"

"You mean you don't remember what you called my parents?" Grantaire asked seriously.

Charla paled. "No. What did I say?"

"I'm not going to repeat those words here. But you owe at least my mother an apology. She caught some of the argument."

Charla filed that information for later. "Of course, babe, I'll do whatever it takes."

"They're probably back from church by now. You'll probably find mother in her garden," Grantaire said tiredly.

"Will you be coming home with me, babe?" Charla asked reaching her hand across the table.

Grantaire would be a dick to refuse it. After a moment of hesitation, "yes."

They left together, hand in hand. Enjolras watched them go. He pulled out his phone and sent off a message, I need to see you tonight.

Within ten minutes he got a reply. Come to my room at eleven, I'll be waiting ~F.

Enjolras swallowed, warmth pooling in his gut already. He could forget Grantaire, the way he and Charla had looked at one another, had held hands. He could forget.

Charla couldn't help the smile on her face at home. Grantaire had wandered off somewhere, and she was alone again. She remember everything that had happened last night, she wasn't completely plastered. She was just glad she could convince R that she had forgotten. If only his meddling mother hadn't heard any of it. It was going to be much harder to get Helene to like her again, but Charla was sure she could do it.

Helene was in her garden when Charla found her.

"About last night," Charla began diplomatically.

"You were drunk." Helene said coldly, she didn't look at Charla.

"Yes, I was. However that does not give me the right to have said what I said. I shouldn't have said those things, Helene. About you, or your husband or even R."

"Do you remember what you said?" Helene asked straightening up.

Charla frowned demurely, making sure to crease her forehead as little as possible. "I am afraid that I don't, but Grantaire assures me that it was awful. I am sorry for what I said."

"Thank you, Charla," Helene replied stiffly.

"I'd like to make it up to you. Perhaps I could pay for Bianca's flight from Paris? I know it's been awhile since any of you have seen her," Charla offered.

Helene looked the young woman over. "No. I don't think that will be necessary. Bianca is coming home in a few weeks with her girlfriend."

"Will they be staying here?" Charla momentarily lost her composure.

"Yes. Will that be a problem?" Helene raised a brow.

"It's just you have such a small house, lovely as it is. Can it really hold all six of us?" Charla asked. She wasn't exactly fond of sharing the space with Grantaire's parents, not to mention two other strange women.

"I am not sending my daughter to a B&B," Helene reproached.

"Of course not, but this girlfriend perhaps-"

"By that logic, you should be at the B&B and Grantaire should be here," Helene said saccharinely.

"But that's different, we're getting married." Protested Charla.

"Yes, and Bianca's family." Helene responded coolly.

Charla frowned, not caring about early wrinkles, "I am too, Helene. I am marrying your son."

"Family doesn't call family manipulative and useless."

"I just call it like I see it," sneered Charla.

"And so do I." Helene said easily. "And you are not family."

"You can't stop this wedding. It's going to happen, whether you approve or not." Charla huffed.

Helene raised a brow. "If I have anything to do with it, you will not marry my son. He deserves so much more than you."

Charla stepped back, "excuse me?"

"You heard me. You pretend to be sweet, and from a good family, but you're nothing but a social climbing piece of trash. My son deserves someone who loves him for his gifts and flaws, who doesn't make him feel bad for his depression, who doesn't mock his attempted suicide." Helene's voice shook.

Charla turned her head to yell, "Grantaire, we're leaving! We're going to the Thenardier B&B. Tonight!" She turned to the older woman. "I won't let you poison my fiancee with your words. You don't know what's good for R anymore. His career needs me."

"You don't even believe in his talents? What kind of wife will you be?" Helene marveled.

"A perfect one," Charla said whipping her head away. The blonde stormed off, crushing the daisies Helene had just planted.

Happy Barricade Day guys! YASSSSSSSSS *cries in a corner*
I should be working on my Performing Arts Portfolio Exam (which ironically is about Schonberg, Boublil, and Les Mis) but I needed a brain break. Since next week is my exam week and graduation I am not sure if I will be able to have a chapter up next weekend, I hope to but don't know yet. Please let me know if I need to add more to my warning at the beginning, I really want you guys to feel safe and non-triggered. Thanks for the favorites, and keep those comments coming! ~T.W.o.W.