Save Me From Myself
Author: kjack89
Art by jeanenjolras
Pairing(s): Combeferre/Grantaire, Enjolras/Grantaire
Warnings: Alcoholism, recovery, relapse; brief emetophobia; canonical major character death
Summary: Combeferre seeks to free Grantaire from the chains on his dependence on alcohol, no matter if he may have a dual motivation in mind. But just when things seem to be going better than Combeferre could have hoped between them, the events of June 1832 happen.
Notes: Much thanks to Pilf for allowing me to not so much bend as outright break the rules on word limit here, and to Perry for agreeing to this beast. As with everything I write of this nature, anything I say or imply about addiction, recovery and relapse are based on my own experiences and should not be taken as universal. Most of the recovery itself takes place offscreen, due to the sometimes graphic nature of detox that could have bumped this out of T territory. As this fic is over 5000 words long, it will be cut off if read on Tumblr mobile.
Combeferre let out a world-weary sigh before opening the door to the modest suite of rooms he called his own. It had been almost three days since he had last slept in his own bed, and judging by the ache in his back and the numbness that had stolen over his mind as he journeyed through the near-empty streets of Paris, he longed for it dearly.
But sleep was not to be achieved, at least not immediately, as Combeferre opened the door to find a fire lit in his grate and Courfeyrac lounging on his méridienne, sipping from a glass of wine. “Ah, Combeferre!” Courfeyrac said loudly, sitting up and raising his glass as if toasting his return. “I hope you do not mind I helped myself. Awaiting your return when you left no word as to where you’d gone was thirsty work.”
If it were not for the fact that Combeferre and Courfeyrac had been close friends for years, Combeferre might have taken Courfeyrac’s words at face value. As it was, he read the worry hidden in his tone and saw the shadows that lingered under Courfeyrac’s eyes, not quite masked by the brightly-colored waistcoat and cravat clearly chosen to make Courfeyrac look less peaked, and surmised that he had not been the only one with a few sleepless nights under his belt. “You were awaiting my return?” he asked mildly. “Surely when you had entered my chambers and discovered my absence, you should have taken your leave.”
“I did,” Courfeyrac acknowledged steadily. “But not after trying to ascertain your whereabouts, and upon discovering no one knew where you had gone, I endeavored to wait for you here. Granted, I did not imagine it would take you this long to return…”
His words held no condemnation in them, only mild curiosity, but Combeferre flushed and said quickly, “I was with Grantaire.”
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