jaimemieux | (no subject)

Combeferre has seen little of his friends lately - less, he knows, than he should, as more than one exclamation-filled text from Courfeyrac has reminded him. Despite that, most have responded to his suddenly overfull schedule with only gentle entreaties. Combeferre certainly had not expected that Grantaire would be the one to put his foot down and demand he spend a day away from school, and home, and the overwhelming tasks of unexpected fatherhood. But the man had insisted with surprising kindness, and when Combeferre had mentioned it to Sybil, she had insisted, and that is how he ended up standing on Grantaire’s doorstep on a Saturday night, thoughts still lingering on the stacks of books that sit at home, waiting impatiently for his return.

He isn’t entirely sure what to expect from a night with Grantaire. The man has mellowed a little in his time away from Paris, but God only know what he might have planned. With a rueful shake of his head, Combeferre knocks. It’s too late to change his mind now.

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Grantaire isn't sure, at all, that Combeferre won't back out of this last minute. The man can be a little caught up in his studies even in the best of circumstances, but lately he's been altogether off the edge of the planet. With a wife, and a new baby, medical school, etc, he's not surprised, but it's starting to become obvious.

Combine that with the fact that they've never been the closest friends in the group and R's a bit nervous that he perhaps crossed a line and has annoyed him, or just engendered a retreat.

So when the knock comes at his door, he brightens and heads straight over for the door. "You made it! Wonderful." He reaches to give Combeferre a one-armed embrace of the sort common between them all. "Have you eaten, friend? I was thinking food, before anything else." He glances at him, slightly suspicious that regular meals are among the comforts low on his friend's priority list lately.

Combeferre has seen that concerned look before - from Prouvaire, and from Sybil, and once upon a time, even from Enjolras. But he does not expect it from Grantaire, for all they are dear friends in their own way, and he must laugh.”Food sounds perfectly wonderful,” he says, and does not add that Grantaire, of all people, should not be criticizing his eating habits, even obliquely. “And I will not even ask what ‘anything else’ might entail. Yet."

"That's to your benefit," Grantaire laughs and goes for his coat. He can tell Combeferre is judging him a bit, but he's used to it. "There is a joy to spontaneity, one I suspect you haven't been indulging in frequently enough. You are a doctor, my friend, you must take care for your spirit as well as your mind and body and that of your family's."

He shrugs on the coat and ushers 'Ferre back outward. "But then, I suppose that's what I'm for, as I am expert in keeping oneself in good spirits," he jokes. "What do you think for dinner? Seafood, baguettes, something barely dreamed up back home?" He knows it all. Grantaire may forget to feed himself some days, or subside on the fried food he's entitled to during a shift, but he hasn't forgotten his pride in knowing the best of everything. And he does have a lover who delights in all things edible.

Combeferre huffs a laugh, ducking his head sheepishly as he follows Grantaire out. “With such models I have for the spontaneous life, can you blame me for avoiding its charms?” he teases, glad for the chance to be playful with a friend. How strange it is that this camaraderie and conversation can still feel so normal, even after Darrow, and everything that has happened to them both. “What an embarrassment of riches,” he quips, certain that Grantaire knows the perfect eatery for every taste and occasion, just as he did in Paris. “What about somewhere with excellent desserts?” he asks, deciding that this is a night to indulge one’s sweet tooth.

“I hear you have a new roommate,” Combeferre says as they head out together, for word of Gavroche’s move has already reached him. Even with his nose to the grindstone, he cannot entirely escape news shared amongst his friends.

Grantaire pretends affront. "Is my life so terrible?" he asks, hand to chest. "In any case, Courfeyrac is perfectly functional, though I think his coworkers may not be if they keep trying to out-do him in festivity."

It's good to hear Combeferre laugh, and to laugh with him, and he's in good cheer as they head down the street. "Desserts," he muses. "I think I know the place," he decides, and turns them toward downtown a little bit.

"I do. Very short, and not much of a contributor to the rent," he grins. "I don't have the faintest idea what possessed Gavroche," R admits, "and I doubt I'm qualified to be ensuring the safety of a minor, but it's been good to have him close." Better than he'll admit; Gavroche is as close to family as he has here, and if he spends the rest of his life making up for not having stirred to keep him safe on the barricade, he thinks that might be almost enough.

Besides, between Edgar and Gavroche he just about has motivation to keep himself in one piece.

Combeferre smiles as he watches his friend, amused, even proud, to hear the man talk with bafflement about his new charge. Miraculously, responsibility suits Grantaire. Combeferre has always known Grantaire to be capable of more than he allowed himself - he is intelligent, capable, and not half so disdainful of humanity as he pretended to be in his darker moments. Paris never allowed him to flourish - in part due to Grantaire’s own stubbornness, the ease with which he confirmed low expectations - but the same need not be true of Darrow.

They have all come a long way.

“I would never dare to understand a gamin’s mind,” Combeferre chuckles. “But considering his last caretaker…well, I doubt you can make much more trouble for him. Or he for you. Lucky for us all, Gavroche is miraculously resilient."