Just a little drabble that hit me. I've been reading E/E stories and I've been itching to write one!

It was raining.

He was vaguely aware of the water sliding down his face, mixing into the sheen of sweat that had not abated in weeks. He, as their leader, was constantly covered in excited perspiration, a side effect of the riveting speeches he often gave. Tonight, however, it was a different kind, one of panic and adrenaline. The attack had come as he expected. His friends – he glanced around at the rag-tag group of boys – had fought valiantly, and one had fallen. One that should not have even been there.

"And by the way, Monsieur Marius, I believe I was a little bit in love with you."

The leader glanced down at the couple to his left. The boy – besotted with the love of another – was crying; it was obvious even amidst the raindrops scattering down his face. The girl…the girl was something different entirely. She was a poor and misguided young woman, hardened by the bitter cold of the streets of Paris. It was for her kind that they fought, and now she was the first victim of their revolution.

In love with Marius, she said. This, of course, the leader knew. He had not known it for awhile, but after constantly seeing her at their meetings, both arriving and leaving with Marius, the unrequited love pieced itself together in his mind.

Love. It was an interesting concept to a revolutionary who had devoted his entire adult life to the well being of Paris. He certainly had given very little thought to the concept at all, for that matter. He understood it from a clinical view, yes; he knew that there were needs that all individuals had, and that generally, other humans could satisfy them. What he did not understand was the devotion of one human being to another in the whole sense of the concept: he was devoted, yes, but to a country and to a cause. This was a higher calling, and this made sense to him. Devoting himself to a single soul, even if that soul was part of a whole people, was preposterous to him. What sort of effect could he have on the world if he cared only for a single person?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, glancing down again. The girl, it appeared was dead. He felt an unwilling pain in his chest at the thought, and a blush creeping onto his cheeks when he recalled the events of twelve hours prior, when he had begun to slightly understand the emotional concept of loving another single soul.

All of the men were at the barricade. All but one. Their fearless leader stood in the café, looking at the papers arranged on the side table. His plans. The plans he had written to overthrow the state, to unite the people, and to free Paris. Such grand plans for such a young mind, he knew.

A noise at the door startled him, and he whipped around, drawing his pistol. It was not a member of the army, however, but a boy. No, not a boy, it was a girl, dressed in boy's clothing. Not just any girl, either, but Marius's shadow, the one who followed him everywhere.

"I'm looking for my brother." She said hastily, her eyes wide at the sight of the leader. Though she had attended nearly every meeting, she had never spoken to him. His ideas were grand, and his words large.

"Your brother?" He phrased it as a question.

"Gavroche." She said shortly, her eyes darting around the small room. The leader's mouth made a small 'o' of understanding.

"Last I checked he was down with the other men," he said shortly, ruffling the papers on the desk. The girl nodded, leaning against the doorframe.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked curiously, her eyes falling on the plans on the desk. His eyebrows crinkled. Why did she care?

"Looking at my plans once more."

"Do you think you are going to die here tonight?"

The question halted the leader immediately, drawing his head up with a jerk to stare at her. Her face was open and honest.

"Why would you ask that?" he questioned harshly, his eyes burning. She shrunk back slightly.

"It is not completely out of the question," she mumbled, looking up at him again. His expression lessened in severity.

"It is not." He said quietly. Perhaps it was the lack of feminine interaction over the past few months, but he felt his resolve crumbling slightly. He pushed the lump in his throat down; he would not cry in front of this girl.

"I did not mean to upset you."

"You did not give me any thoughts that I have not had myself over the past few weeks." He admitted, sitting down in a chair. "I often wonder what will happen if all these men die because of me."

"Because of you?"

"I have led them to join this group, and if they die, it is my fault. I will have led them to their deaths."

"That is not true," she said quietly, coming into the room fully. "The men down at your barricade, including my brother, were not forced to join your group. They joined because they, like so many others, were moved by your speeches and believe in your cause."

"If we die – "

"If you die, others will rise to take your place. The despairs of the poor will never end until someone stands up. You have done that, and it will not end with you."

He considered her. She was smarter than he had given her credit for. He had taken her as a poor street urchin who only had girlish fantasies of Marius in her head. He had never considered that she had ideas of her own. That, he realized sharply, was a ludicrous idea; was it not her that he was fighting for?

"Thank you," he said quietly. "You should get out of here, this is no place for – "

"For a girl?" she interrupted, laughing slightly. "I have seen things that you have never even thought of. I have been living on the streets for years."

"I do not doubt it." He said, appraising her. Beneath her ill-fitting men's clothes she was ghastly thin. Her hair had not been washed for some time, and there was grime on her skin. He had never been interested in girls, but he could admit that below her layer of street induced filth, that she could be attractive.

"So you spend your last night on earth, doing what? Reading over your plans?"

"You're assuming that I will die tomorrow."

"You're assuming you will not?"

He stopped to consider. What did he really think their chances were? In a perfect world they would win, the king would be overthrown and Paris would rejoice. In reality, though, what would happen? He and his comrades would die early deaths, and their cause may even die along with them.

"What should I be doing, then?" He asked, wondering what a young and poor girl would suggest. She shrugged her thin shoulders slightly.

"If I were a man, I would think I would spend my last evening with a woman."

He laughed at this, a sarcastic smile cracking across his face. "I do not have women."

"Never?"

"Not once."

She was quiet for a moment, studying him from across the room. "But you're – " She stopped, unsure if she should continue. He raised an eyebrow. " – handsome." She finished lamely, and a small blush appeared on his face.

"Thank you?" He said questioningly. She giggled quietly.

"It was not a question, but you are welcome."

"What about you? If this were your last night on earth, what would you want to be doing?" He asked her. Her eyes flicked towards the window. "Marius." He said the name, and she flinched.

"He would not care if I died here tomorrow."

"He would." The leader said impassively. "He cares for you, just not in the way that you wish."

"And how do you know so much about it?" she asked, brow furrowed.

"I observe."

She let out a strangled laugh. "He has fallen for another." She said bluntly, to which he nodded.

"I know, he would not shut up about it during our meeting last night."

"I am sure you did not appreciate that," she said, her voice teasing. He looked up to confirm, and noticed she was smiling.

"I did not. I was trying to invigorate the people, you see." He smiled with one side of his mouth as she laughed.

"When you say you have had no women…"

"I mean that I have never courted, kissed, or lain with a woman."

She blinked. "Not even kissed?" He laughed at her bewilderment.

"Not once."

He stopped to wonder why he was telling her all of this. Was it because he truly believed tonight to be his final night on earth? Did he feel that he needed to confess things that he had never told anyone in order to make up for the last years when he had been all business, all France, all the time? Was it because he was feeling broken about the days ahead, about losing his friends? Or was it because maybe, in the midst of this revolution, he felt as lonely as she?

Silence fell between the pair. She shifted nervously from foot to foot. "I don't want to overstay my welcome." She said quietly. "I'll leave you to it."

"Wait." Even to his own ears, it sounded desperate. "I…this is going to sound really strange."

"Yes?"

"This love thing… you all go on about it like it's the greatest thing you've ever been a part of, and yet… it breaks you all up inside. So why do it?"

She sighed, considering the question. "I…I fell for Marius because he was everything I could have wanted. He is upstanding, he is a gentleman, he is kind, and he is handsome. I…I never meant to fall for him, but when he treated me – a poor street beggar – as an equal, I admit I became besotted."

"I think I should feel as though I missed out on some great thing by not falling in love," the leader mused, standing from the chair. "If I die tomorrow, I think I should like to have felt that, at least to some extent." The girl said nothing. "Would you mind terribly if I were to kiss you?"

The question hung in the air. The leader did not dare to breathe, his heart racing. He told himself to get a grip. Asking a girl if he could kiss her was nothing compared to asking the people to rise with him against the king of France. Surely he had to sort out his nerves.

"I…me? You want to kiss me?"

"You said if you were a man in your last night on earth, you would want a woman. I should like to have this…this earthly thing before I die tomorrow."

"You do not know that you are going to die."

"And yet, I do not know if I shall live."

"I do not think I would like to spend my last night on earth pining for someone who will never love me," she admitted, taking a hesitant step into the room. "If you indeed wish to kiss me, you may kiss me."

He nodded in affirmation, taking the rest of the room in two strides, coming to stand in front of her. He felt his palms sweating and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at himself. He tried to recall times he had seen men kissing women; if this was the only kiss he was ever to have, he needed it to be done right.

He gently cupped her face between his hands, tilting her chin up. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her hands falling on his arms. With the mentality of ripping off a bandaid, he leaned down quickly to press his lips to hers.

She was frozen in place, not sure if she should respond. She had a bit more experience than him, though that had never been her will. She did not know how to kiss a man like she meant it, or how to enjoy it. He was even more clueless than she.

Intuition took over him, and he began to move his lips hesitantly against hers. She was surprised, but quickly copied his movements. He smelled like gunpowder and sweat, and she relished in the scent, drawing him closer to her. He surprised her again by responding immediately, pulling her body flush with his, his hands resting on her hips. She threaded her fingers through his hair, opening her mouth when she felt a hesitant tongue touch her teeth.

He had never expected to enjoy this, and yet here he was with a girl pressed between his body and a wall, his mouth moving of its own accord, and his tongue dancing with hers. His movements became desperate, his mouth harder against hers, his hips involuntarily pressing into her abdomen. His erratic movements drew a slight moan from her mouth, which enticed him further.

And all at once, it was over. He pulled back at the sound of breaking glass from below the window. It was his drunken friends, laughing together. The moment broken, he looked at her. Her face was red, her lips swollen, her hair disheveled. He knew he must look the same.

He was at a loss of what to say to her. What did one usually say after such an encounter?

"I…" he started, before stopping lamely. Her lips quirked into a smile.

"You know, for a novice, you kiss quite well."

He blushed, clearing his throat. "I, yes, thank you, you too."

She laughed quietly, touching her lips unconsciously. "If tonight is indeed my last night on earth, I'm glad that I shared that with you."

"As am I resigned to the fact that this is probably my final living night, I thank you for that." He said officially. It was all back to business for the leader of the revolution.

"I'm going to find my brother." She said, turning to go. Before descending the stairs, however, she turned again, placing a hand on his arm. "Be careful." She said quietly.

"This," he said suddenly, placing his free hand upon hers. "will not be your last night on earth. Find Gavroche, take him away, and hide yourselves." She nodded, smiling at him again.

"See you later," she said, looking at him once more before exiting the room.

Later, as he stared at death down the barrel of a gun, the red flag raised in his hand, he finally understood. Love, he had decided, was giving hope to another human being. She had given him, in that short ten minutes, hope. Hope that if he died, as he was about to, that his cause would carry on. That it was not all in vain. That he had not led his friends to their deaths, that they, like so many others, believed in him. Like she did. He wondered if he had given her a sense of hope as well, that maybe, if she had lived, she would not be alone, waiting on a boy who was in love with another.

As the gun fired, he had a brief vision. A vision of his life, had he not been consumed by France. He saw himself graduating from university, finding a job, and getting married. He was surprised that the bride in his mind's eye was her. She was clean, free of the grime of the streets. Her lips – the ones he had kissed only a few hours prior – were smiling. She was radiant.

The bullets pierced his flesh and he felt himself falling into an endless hole, tumbling out of life itself. His final thoughts of his friends, his country and of her flashed through his mind a final time. In another life, he mused, as he felt his eyes close, it could have been.

Thanks for reading my spur of the moment little fic! I had intended to write a desperate and steamy sex scene but as I was going, I felt like that would be way out of place/character, so I left it out...maybe in the future I'll write a different one shot and include it! Thanks again for reading, and if you like Harry Potter (and you should), I have written three (2 complete, one WIP) HP stories as well! :) - Brittany