Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Michel was dripping slightly from the shower, wiping at his hair with a towel with one hand, gulping from a water bottle held in the other. His Papa would be there to get him soon, but he wasn't particularly keen on leaving. This was the one time every week he got to see Nicolas, and leaving his friend was a disappointing thought. "Hey R, do you want to come to my house instead of going home right now? Or would your parents mind?"

"Hmm?" Nicolas looked over from where he was wiping himself with a wet cloth. He thought for a moment. He was most definitely up for anything that would keep him away from home, and spending more time with Michel was a great bonus. His mother probably wouldn't have any objections - she was very happy he'd found a friend in Michel - and his father likely wouldn't notice he was gone. He nodded. "Uh, yeah, but I'll have to tell my mama first. She should let me."

Michel smiled. "Great! My dad might be a little while getting here, though. He's probably just finishing up work." Michel's mother had dropped him off. His father had big competition coming up, and was thus doing conditioning every day. "I think my dad will let you use his cell phone when he gets here. Unless you have one?" For obvious reasons, Michel's parents didn't allow him a phone – he was too young –but some of his friends had them.

"No, I have one." Nicolas assured him, pulling it out to prove it. It was a beat-up old thing with the sole purpose of being able to contact his mother directly. Ringing the house phone left the possibility of his father picking up, and besides, he usually texted her - silence, that was the key of it.

'Can I go 2 Michels for a bit?' he sent off. He hoped she'd have time to reply before Michel's father arrived.

Michel smiled and nodded, shuffling a bit as he switched his gym bag from one shoulder to the other. He opened his mouth to say something when he broke into a smile and laughed. "There's my dad, he' still in his work clothes." It was amusing, normally Michel's Papa changed out of his workout gear before coming to get him. "Your mom say yes?"

Nicolas looked down at his mobile. His mother still hadn't responded... but he had told her where he'd be. 'I won't b 2 long.' he texted her again. He smiled up at Michel, and looked over at his father.

"I think it’s okay." he said, picking up his bag.

Michel smiled and nodded. "Great, come on." he made a beckoning gesture before hurrying over to his father, smiling. "Hi, papa. This is Nicolas. It would be alright for him to come over for a bit, right?" He couldn't help the slight the pleading note. Michel doubted his father would say no, however.

M. Bahorel looked over at his son's friend and smiled. He guessed this was the "R" they'd been hearing about - Michel wouldn't stop talking about him.

"Yes, of course. Is it okay with his parents?"

At that moment Nicolas felt his phone vibrate and checked to find a replying message from his mother - 'Of course. Be careful x' from his mother. He grinned.

"Yeah, it's fine." he chirped happily.

Michel smiled. "Thanks, Papa." He turned back to R. "Come on, we can throw your bag in the trunk. Mama's probably going to say you should stay for dinner." He laughed; his mother was always trying to feed people.

Nicolas laughed with his friend as he ran with him to the car, throwing his bag in the boot alongside Michel's and strapping himself in. M. Bahorel smiled as he listened to the two talk animatedly in the backseats.

It was really in no time at all that they arrived at the Bahorel home. "We're home, Mama! My friend Nicolas is here!" Michel called as he walked in the front door, kicking his sneakers off into the closet.

Mme. Bahorel came into the front hall, a mixing bowl balanced against her hip as she stirred it, picture of domesticity. "Well hello there, Nicolas. I suppose you're the famous R?" She set the bowl down on a side table to kiss her husband and ruffle Michel's hair. "It’s nice to meet you."

Nicolas looked around the inside of the house - it felt a lot warmer than his own. Already, M. Bahorel had been kinder to him than really anyone except his mother, and Michel himself, and Mme. Bahorel looked set up to take the same path. He smiled shyly and nodded.

Mme. Bahorel smiled lightly and dropped to one knee in front of Nicolas and drew him forward into a hug for a moment before releasing him and straightening back up. Nicolas froze slightly when Mme. Bahorel dropped down in front of him and pulled him into the unexpected embrace, but quickly shook it off.

"Well it's wonderful to have you. I'm making cookies, if you boys want to help." She scooped the bowl back up. "I hope you can stay with us for dinner." She paused. "Your sister is at her friend's house, so don't worry about that, Michel."

Michel smiled, and looked at Nicolas. "Well, R? When Mama makes cookies, she doesn't just make cookies. She makes lots of other sweets as well."

"Really? Mama sometimes makes cakes, but not often." he said.

"Mama always freezes some and gives them to other people." Indeed, Mme. Bahorel made all manner of sweets and pastries anywhere from monthly to bi-monthly, depending on how much was made, how much was given away, and how much was eaten. "Maybe she'll let you take some home."

Nicolas smiled. "Well I'm all up for helping." he said.

Michel smiled and nodded. "Come on, then. Kitchen's this way." he beckoned to his friend and padded off down the hall after kicking his shoes off. Nicolas quickly toed off his own shoes and followed Michel, still looking around the house as he went.

"Your house is really nice." he said.

"Huh? I guess so, Papa's friends have nicer." Michel blinked, pushing open the kitchen door to let the delicious scent of pastries flood the hall.

 "Hmm." Nicolas hummed to acknowledge he'd heard, then breathed in deeply as the warm air of the kitchen washed over them. "Wow, that smells good." he grinned.

"Going to help then, boys?" Mme. Bahorel asked with a hum, pulling a tray of cookies from the bottom oven and placing them on the counter next to a few pies, a tart, and a tray of brownies. "Sugar cookies need to go in next, if you boys would wash your hands and put the dough on the tray?"

Michel nodded and obediently went to the sink, scrunching his elbows in to avoid knocking the brownie tray. Nicolas gazed over all the food as he washed his hands after Michel, rolling up his shirtsleeves to his elbows, fingertips brushing over the faint scars visible on the back of his forearms out of habit.

"When you said she made a lot, you weren't kidding." he said with a small huff of laughter.

Michel nodded, smiling when his mother placed a tray and a bowl of cookie dough on a bit of free counter space. "Yeah, we always have a lot. It lasts for a while though. Mama, can R take some when he goes home?"

His mother smiled and laughed. "Of course, I'd have suggested it if you hadn't."

"Thank you, Madame." Nicolas smiled as he took a place beside Michel and copied his motions of shaping the dough and placing them evenly spaced on the tray.

Once the tray was loaded and popped into the oven, Michel gave his mother a pleading little look.

She laughed. "You both can each have one cookie, but no more. Dinner will be ready soon."

Nicolas grinned over at Michel as he nabbed himself a cookie. "Thanks, Madame." he chirped again.

"Oh it's no problem. Now you boys run along while I finish up dinner. And Michel?"

"Yes, Mama?" He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"No rough housing!" Mme. Bahorel sounded more fond than anything else as she shooed the boys away.

Nicolas laughed through a mouthful of cookie as he chased Michel through the halls.

Chapter Text

"You are both really slow. My mother doesn't bite, Courf." Bahorel sighed, throwing his two friends a look that plainly said that dragging their feet would get them nowhere- quite literally. "And my father is away for a race." He added after a moment, pushing the front door of his family home open. "Mama! R and I are here- we brought Courfeyrac!"

Grantaire smiled slightly over at Courfeyrac. "Mme Bahorel is lovely, I promise. I think you'll like her."

"It's more whether she'll like me I'm worried about." Courfeyrac admitted with a quiet chuckle, and then threw on his usual dramatics, saying "Why, I'm meeting your mother! Should I behave like a gentleman? I don't want her to disapprove!"

Grantaire snorted and shoved him playfully. Bahorel rolled his eyes, making a face at his friends over his shoulder.

Mme Bahorel came walking into the room, reminiscent of when Bahorel and Grantaire were children. "Well hello, boys."

"Madame." Courfeyrac smiled, his usual charm as present as always, and made a small bow. Beside him, Grantaire hid a snicker, and responded with a casual "Hello Maman."

"Maman?" Courfeyrac frowned slightly over at Grantaire. The brunette offered no more than a small nod accompanied by a small movement of his shoulders, which meant he may or may not get a brief explanation at a later point. Knowing Grantaire, most likely not.

Michel grunted mildly as his mother tightly hugged him, the fact that she was significantly shorter obvious. "Michel, you really need to warn me when you're coming home, I'd make something nicer for dinner." She released Bahorel to instead give Grantaire the same treatment, casting a critical eye over him. "Nicolas, dear, you need to eat better. You're too thin." She fussed a moment longer, much to Bahorel's amusement. Grantaire made a face over Mme Bahorel's shoulder at his friend as she fussed, but he was still smiling.

 Mme Bahorel tutted fondly at the two before giving Courfeyrac the critical stare. Obviously something about him earned approval, because the small woman broke into a bright smile and hugged Courfeyrac. "Well it's lovely to meet you. Are you staying for dinner?"

Courfeyrac grinned and returned the hug happily. "If you'll have me, Madame."

Mme Bahorel just laughed. "But of course! I'm making crepes, chicken and sautéed vegetables and cheese for fillings."

Bahorel smiled mildly and shook his head. "Mama, you know that's always good."

Mme Bahorel swatted lightly at her son. "Hush now, I would be cooking something much better than crepes for dinner if I'd known."

"All your meals are amazing, Maman." Grantaire said. "Definitely better than anything your son can make." Here he grinned teasingly over at Bahorel. Really, none of them had quite gotten the hang of 'proper' food and so lived off pizza, takeaway and easy meals.

Bahorel rolled his eyes and pulled a decidedly unattractive face. "Like you can do much better, mister 'I'll have a packet of crackers.'"

"At least I can't horribly burn a packet of crackers." Grantaire retorted.

 Courfeyrac smiled and shook his head as the two bantered back and forth.

"Hopeless, aren't they?" he said with a quiet chuckle.

Mme Bahorel nodded in agreement, laughing. "They always have been, to similar for their own good sometimes."

"Ah, that's why we love 'em." Courfeyrac said. "Come on Dum and Dee, stop your bickering."

"Dum and Dee?" Grantaire asked, eyebrow raised.

"Jehan was talking, I vaguely took some of it in."

Bahorel snorted. "I often wonder how serious you are."

Mme Bahorel shook her head at the boys, still laughing softly at the boys. "Dear, you boys are in college. It would just be bad taste to take anything said seriously." She shook her head and started for the hall. "I'm going to start on dinner, if you boys would be sweet enough to set the table and fetch the pie from the fridge."

"Never mind serious, I am wild." Grantaire laughed. He toed off his shoes, putting them in their usual place, and started off down the hall to the kitchen. Courfeyrac followed, and the three made quick work of setting the table and retrieving the pie as requested.

While the boys prepared the table, Mme Bahorel went about starting on dinner, humming lightly. "So what do you study, Courfeyrac? Michel hasn't mentioned it."

"Ah, law." Courfeyrac smiled. Grantaire may have muttered something about "And a whole lot more than you do." to Bahorel, starting a small fight of nudges.

Mme Bahorel made an exasperated- if fond- noise as she finished up cooking the crepes and fillings. "Help yourselves, boys."

"Thank you, Maman!" Grantaire grinned as he gave one last nudge to Bahorel and helped himself first.

"Your cooking really is delicious, Madame." Courfeyrac said as he took his first bite of the crepes. He sent a teasing smirk over to Bahorel. "Now, why didn't you learn to cook from your mother? She obviously knows how to do it right."

"Too busy punching stuff." Grantaire chipped in through a mouthful of crepe.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, young man."

"Now, why would I want to be getting anywhere?" Courfeyrac asked with his best innocent look, but the grin tugging on his lips gave him away.

Bahorel stuck his tongue out at Grantaire after swallowing, breaking the look only to send his mother a grateful look. "I could say the same about you, you're no better."

"You punch more stuff than I do." Grantaire argued.

"Yeah, but you break more than I do." Bahorel retorted, taking another bite of crepe.

"To quote my boys here, wait until you try my pie."

Grantaire pulled a face at Bahorel in retaliation, and then ignored him in favour of saying to Courfeyrac "Oh god yes, wait till you try the pie."

"That good?" He said but then, looking down at the crepe in his hand. "Actually that's utterly believable."

"I've always told you, you should've been a chef, mere." Bahorel commented, finishing his crepe.

"Oh, but Michel, I love my work far too much. And how many other boys your age can boast that they know how to give professional haircuts and style makeovers." Mme Bahorel's expression was teasing, even as her son's face went a bit red. Which was to be expected, really. Grantaire aside, his friends only knew of his braiding ability.

Grantaire snorted loudly and very nearly choked on his crepe as Bahorel went red.

"So you didn't learn to cook, but you learnt to style hair?" Courfeyrac asked teasingly, a friendly grin on his face. "Jehan's going to be annoyed that you've been holding out on him."

"Shut up, Courfeyrac. It’s not my fault I was stuck as mére's assistant on weekends." he pointedly made himself another crepe and took a large bite.

"Don't be so embarrassed, Michel. It's a perfectly normal skill set." Mme Bahorel tutted.

"Perfectly normal." Grantaire echoed with a smile.

"You shut up." Bahorel tossed a wadded up napkin at Grantaire.

Grantaire threw the napkin back, and Courfeyrac shook his head again at them.

"Thank god you're not like this at the cafe - Enjolras would blow a casket!" he said.

"Which is why we wait to do this until we get home." Bahorel stated, throwing the napkin right back.

"What awful sons I have." Mme Bahorel sighed theatrically, smiling.

"You love us really, Maman." Grantaire sang, retaliating with his own napkin as well as Bahorel's.

"I really have to, can't leave you boys alone." Mme Bahorel shook her head in fond exasperation as Bahorel chucked the napkins back. "Are you boys done?"

"With the food or the napkin fight?" Courfeyrac asked rhetorically.

"Yeah, I'm finished." Grantaire replied, and after failing to find any heavier weaponry to throw, resorted to kicking Bahorel's shin under the table.

Bahorel pulled  aface as he stood to clear the plates, giving his mother a look when she went to help.

"I knew I taught you something right, Michel." She laughed lightly. "You boys want a slice of pie? You know you're going back with whatever sweets you like from the freezer."

"Pie!" Grantaire cheered. "If I believed in Heaven, it would be Maman's pie."

"You really like the pie, don't you?" Courfeyrac laughed. Grantaire looked over at him.

"You'll understand." he said. "Everyone loves Maman's pie."

"Don't underestimate the pie, Courfeyrac." Bahorel agreed from where he was loading the dishwasher.

Mme Bahorel just smiled good-naturedly as she went about slicing the pie- chocolate mousse with homemade whipped cream and chocolate shavings- and serving it onto plates.

"Wow okay, that just looks plain amazing." Courfeyrac admitted. Grantaire laughed, standing up to grab two slices and placing one in front of his friend.

"Fork, R." Bahorel instructed, dropping clean forks in front of his friends with a 'click' as he accepted his own slice. "You work too hard, Mama. You're never going to outdo yourself."

"I was getting there." Grantaire defended. He turned to pull Mme Bahorel over to the table with them. "Come on Maman. Sit down with us."

From the table, Courfeyrac murmured "God has descended to Earth and created Heaven on my tastebuds."

"Yeah, well, you were always the one that decided to just use your hands." Bahorel said as he pulled out a chair and guided his mother to sit, slicing her a piece of the pie himself.

"You boys are too good to me." Mme Bahorel shook her fondly.

Grantaire made a vague "ugh" sound at Bahorel, before smiling sincerely at her. "You were good to us first."

"From the way they speak of you, you are a good woman, Madame." Courfeyrac adds. Whenever Bahorel or Grantaire mention going home to their mother, it's always with fond tones and cheerful smiles. Grantaire has said himself multiple times that Mme Bahorel is one of the best people he has ever known. Of course, her kind and charitable nature has often been mentioned in meetings. Perhaps the group do not know a lot about the Bahorels, but if they know one thing, it is that they are good people.