A/N: Glad this update didn't take as long. :P Cookies to whoever catches the itty-bitty Pirate Queen reference!

It was at least ten minutes time before the barricade itself came into view. Mounds of wooden furniture made it up, and the strategic placement made it perfectly defensive. Near it was an empty tavern, which Azelma recognized as the Corinth.

They'd only been there a mere second, and a gun had already fired.

Fauchelevent grabbed her arm, tugging them both flat against the side of a building. They waited against it with baited breath, scarcely moving. Azelma turned her head, watching a boy clutch his shoulder and stumble over the barricade.

Wait a second…

"Éponine!" she would've screamed, but Fauchelevent clapped a hand over her mouth and muffled her voice.

"Go if you must," he told her. "But be careful. Extremely so. No doubt those police won't be terribly kind to you as they were your sister."

Azelma nodded violently, running off to the barricade and tugging the hat tighter onto her head. She glanced back at Fauchelevent, who was watching her with an expression of alarm on his face. He signaled for her to come back, but she froze.

One of the policemen was pointing a rifle at her.

"Stay away from there, boy!"

Azelma didn't move. Her eyes were wide and glued onto the rifle. The policeman chuckled, shaking his head and pointing it at her. "Go."

"No!" she yelled, her voice high pitched with fear, but she ignored it. "Vive la republique! Vive la France!"

A gunshot was fired. Fauchelevent cried out, Azelma braced for impact… and an unseen figure jumped at her, knocking them both out of the way. Both fell to the ground directly in front of the barricade. In doing so, the cap she wore was knocked off, and rolled away.

On top of Azelma, pinning her down, was Grantaire.

"Azelma, in the name of God-!" he hissed, rolling off of her. He stood and offered his hand to her, and she took it, standing as well. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"My sister," she panted. "Eponine just climbed the barricade, she was shot!"

Grantaire gaped. "That was her?"

Before another shot could be fired, Grantaire grabbed her arm and pulled her along, back over the barricade. Barrels and tables shielded them from rifles, to her utter relief. Why hadn't her sister gone this way?

Grantaire climbed down the other side, and Azelma followed close behind. Greeting her were dozens of schoolboys, half of whom she recognized. Over in a corner was Éponine's Marius, head resting on his knees. Everyone was dead silent. It was a church without a congregation.

"Where is she?" Azelma demanded. "Éponine, where is she?"

One of the students, whom she would later identify as Enjolras, turned to her with sad eyes. "I'm sorry."

Azelma's heart now pounded violently. "Where is she? What have you done with her?"

Enjolras looked over to a few students carrying a boy's body into the Corinth. She followed his gaze… straight to Éponine.

"No." Her voice was flooded with anger and despair, all the hurt crushing her in one blow, at full force. Her sister, the strong, brave Éponine, was dead. Dead and gone. "No!"

Her eyes darted around, finally landing on Marius. "You. Pontmercy!" He didn't respond.

"Look at me, Pontmercy!"

"Azelma-" Grantaire warned. But she ignored him, her chest heaving in her rage.

"This is your fault! If you hadn't been a blind idiot, my sister-… m-my sister!..." Her voice shook with unshed tears, sobs held back. Grantaire wrapped his arms around her comfortingly. She buried her face in his chest, completely oblivious, and honestly wouldn't have cared who saw her cry now. Éponine was dead. Her stronger, braver older sister, the wise one, who always knew what to do… was dead.

She clung to him for dear life, sobbing into his chest. Grantaire glanced around at the students, then fixed his gaze on the ground. He stroked her hair with one hand, keeping his other arm tight around her.

It was a strange feeling, comforting her. It set him at unease. Azelma was strong, this he knew well. He'd never seen her like this before. She'd broken down because of her sister's death, and now relied on him for strength. He shushed her, rocking them back and forth. For some odd reason- odd because moments before, her weakness had him uneasy- it felt good to be needed. To be relied on.

"There's a man coming this way!"

Azelma shifted in Grantaire's embrace, turning her head and spotting Fauchelevent, who must've climbed the barricade as well. Their eyes met for a moment, and in it, he bowed his head. Somehow he knew. He must've heard her screaming at Marius. Looking back, she felt ashamed at herself. It hadn't been his fault. Éponine flirted, but in all, kept her emotions to herself just as much as Azelma did. She stuck it somewhere in her mind to apologize later.

"I come here as a volunteer," he assured the students. "Mademoiselle Thénardier can vouch this."

Azelma nodded. The students glanced around at each other, and then all looked expectantly at Enjolras. With a sigh, their leader picked up a bayonet and handed it to Fauchelevent. "Welcome to our humble barricade, monsieur." The students cheered, clapping the old man on the back. Even Azelma managed a smile through her tears.

It was then that she noticed Grantaire's arms still around her. Any other time she would've slinked away, but she'd been clinging to him for dear life since her sister… no. She wouldn't think of it, she couldn't. She looked up at him, and he returned the gaze with a wan smile. "Thank you," she murmured.

Grantaire shook his head, kissing her forehead. "T'was nothing."

One of the sentries turned to the congregation of students. "They're getting ready to attack!"

Enjolras grabbed the nearest bayonet, climbing atop an empty barrel. "Where do we stand?"

"Platoon of sappers advancing towards the barricade!" Feuilly called from atop the mass of wooden furniture and alike. "Troops behind them, fifty men or more!"

Grantaire jumped, grabbing Azelma's arm and sprinting towards the Corinth. Azelma followed gladly.

One of the students- Courfeyrac by name- watched them go. He nearly stopped Grantaire, telling him that she'd be perfectly safe in the tavern by herself, but faltered. Azelma needed him. He'd seen how she reacted to her sister's death; it tore her apart. Though from what he'd heard about the sisters, they weren't extremely close. Perhaps there was more to the Thénardier girls' situation than he saw. In any event, he chose not to stop the drunk, and instead retrieved his own bayonet and positioned it to shoot.

He'd rat out the alcoholic about running when the dreary atmosphere was gone.

It took Grantaire a moment to find a safe place in the tavern to hide, choosing one of the empty bedrooms in the very back, farthest from the fighting. He couldn't risk a bullet flying through a front window, he couldn't risk Azelma. He shut the door behind them, then turned to look at her.

Azelma was in a sorry state. Her eyes were red from crying, tear tracks covered her cheeks. She slid out of the coat, tossing it aside, and Grantaire fought to keep his eyes on hers. The waistcoat seemed to accentuate her curves, which was odd, seeing how it was in fact a waistcoat, men's clothing.

"Grantaire?"

He snapped out of the gutter and back to Azelma, brow furrowed in concern. He stepped toward her, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Mhmm?"

She leaned up and pressed her lips to his, sliding her arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss immediately, cupping her face with both hands and stroking her tears away with his thumbs. His hands slid down her sides and then around her waist, pulling her close.

Azelma shivered. She'd never wanted to be with someone like she did Grantaire. All her life she'd feared prostitution. Now that Éponine was gone, would she take her sister's place and earn money for her father?

She went back to her thought process at Cosette's house. Grantaire had changed her view on her life. She didn't have to- nor should she- work and earn money for her father's gains. For what it was worth, she could tell him to go to Hell and run off with the drunkard. But the prospects of it weren't likely. Her father, and the Patron-Minette, had ways. She would be found and forced into whatever job Thénardier decided to give her.

If she was losing her virginity, she didn't want her first to be with some sleazy old man, or a violent drunkard. She wanted Grantaire, and what time did they have other than now?

As if to let him know what her intentions were, she gripped his shirt with both hands and tugged him closer, which only allowed her to secretly undo the first few buttons. Grantaire caught this and pulled his lips from hers, taking a deep breath. "You sure you w-"

Before he could finish, she crushed her lips back to his. She could feel him smirk against her lips as he slowly lowered her to the bed- thank God he'd chosen to seclude themselves in a bedroom.

The last though he had of anything other than Azelma was, If anyone even considers checking in here…