Because I got a lot of messages about the status of My Father's Shadow (including a rather scathing one that basically said I wasn't allowed to do any other project other than that, and that I wasn't allowed to abandon it after all the hype on tumblr), I would like to make it clear I am not abandoning My Father's Shadow. Rather I'm going to do it on an alternating basis or something where I work on this where the chapters are easier and shorter, publishing them a lot more frequently, at the same time I work on My Father's Shadow, which takes a lot of effort, research and work to publish one chapter. So what I'm going to do, is finish the first couple chapters of this, make sure I get Adelaide all settled into this story, and then I'll go back to writing her slow, painful, long and heartbreakingly drawn-out illness until she finally succumbs to her tuberculosis and leaves behind a hole in the Javert family as they struggle to get through life without here.

But until then, I'm going to work on a couple chapters of this, if you don't mind. Fan fiction is a high priority hobby, not an obligation or job and I get to set the terms on which I write this.

And credit to the tumblr user rideoutoftown who graciously let me use their photo manip of Aaron Tveit and Samantha Barks which Enjolras' phone's lock screen is based off of. To see it please go to post/46344161687/

Finally, this chapter is dedicated to the awesome Christine who bartered her way into an update.

Now on with the show.

The Vow

Chapter Two

Moments of Impact

July 21, 2012

10:38 AM

"You're my doctor."

Enjolras' eyes stood frozen wide, his dry breaths sticking to his throat as his chest heaved wildly. His mind buzzed painfully, as his wife's impossible words processed in his brain. But somehow, it just didn't add up.

"What?" Enjolras wheezed his back still to her almost as if it were a barrier protecting him from the truth, making it not real. Carefully, Enjolras gathered his courage to turn back to face Éponine and meet her eyes.

The familiar brown orbs were completely blank of recognition.

"You're my doctor," Éponine frowned at the strange blonde. Sensing something was wrong, the girl looked to her Uncle, seeking some sort of comfort and safety in the familiar, "Right? It's unprofessional for you to practice on your family members, but since you're only my mother's sister's husband, they let you get away with working on me if you had the aid of an intern?"

"Intern?" Enjolras repeated, gazing at his wife with utter disbelief.

"Oh sorry, first year," Éponine corrected, flashing the strange blonde a brief smile.

Enjolras' eyes shot to Valjean. The greying man stood silently watching his niece, brain processing all the confusing information. Fortunately, being a neurological specialist, Valjean was already three steps ahead of the couple.

He knew what the problem was.

… He just hoped he was wrong.

"Éponine," Valjean cautiously crossed the room. Giving a gentle pat on Enjolras' arm as a signal to back down, the Doctor stopped at his niece's side, laying his charts on the bedside table and took her hand into his firm but friendly grip, one hand over hers, and the other under. Using the hand that was over the young girl's, Valjean used his thumb to give Éponine's hand a comforting stroke, just as he knew his wife would want to do in this situation. What Éponine needed at the moment was a familiar face. "Éponine, I'm worried that your head injury may have caused some damage, so I'm going to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?"

"Alright," Éponine looked between her Uncle and the stranger in confusion, head throbbing as she tried to process everything. She met the eyes of the blonde stranger and was struck with the pain and fear etched in them. Almost as if the sight of her was too much for him to bear, his crystal blue orbs flicked from her gaze as he turned his head away from her.

What was wrong with him?

"Don't worry, Éponine, it's just a couple of simple questions," Valjean patted her hand before releasing it and grabbing the charts from the bedside table. Flipping a few pages, Valjean pulled out a pen from his pocket and clicked it open before reading the first question, "Who is the President of France?"

"I don't know," Éponine replied. "We don't really talk about him at home, and I've never voted."

Valjean looked to Enjolras for confirmation, and the blonde gave a disappointed sigh as he nodded. Unfortunately, they didn't talk about the current President at home, due to Enjolras' dislike of him, and he hadn't been able to convince her to vote in time for the last election. Then again, they had only been officially dating for nine days when the election happened, so it wasn't his fault she wasn't interested in letting him talk to her about politics at the time.

"Alright," Valjean scribbled down her answer with a few notes, "and when were you born?"

"April 15, 1992," Éponine shifted uncomfortably. She knew something was wrong, but she couldn't figure out what. She had been in an accident? How had that happened?

"Correct," Valjean didn't need Enjolras to confirm that one. "What's your full legal name?"

Éponine rubbed her forehead; the sound of Valjean's scribbling echoing painfully in her head, "Éponine Marie Thénardier."

The scribbling stopped.

Valjean looked up from his chart at his niece. He paused for a moment staring at her before looking over at Enjolras. The blonde looked as if he was about to be sick.

"Could you?" Enjolras swallowed. "Could you repeat that?"

"Éponine Marie Thénardier." Éponine frowned at the strange man, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Éponine," Valjean shared a worried look with Enjolras, if she had lost her memory, he hoped that it wasn't too far back. "Éponine, what day was your accident?"

"I don't know," Éponine shifted uncomfortably. "I don't remember being in an accident."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Valjean asked.

Éponine's eyes widened, realisation dawning on her, "Wait! Are you saying I have amnesia?"

"I'm saying that I think you have some temporary memory loss," Valjean calmly replied. He glanced back toward Enjolras, who was slowly turning whiter by the minute, "It could just be a temporary side effect from your accident, but I need you to answer a few more questions before I make a final diagnosis. Now please, can you tell me what the last thing you remember is?"

"Okay," Éponine squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the fleeting memory fragments. "I was… shopping."

"Alright," Valjean wrote something down after sending another glance back at Enjolras, who was gripping the foot of Éponine's hospital bed tightly, as if it were the only thing holding him up.

Éponine frowned, staring at the blonde stranger, "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The blonde let out a deep sigh, his blue eyes pleading for… something. Should she remember him? God her head ached!

"Now, Éponine," Valjean's voice brought her back to him, "I want you to focus really hard. With this shopping memory, do you remember what the date was?"

"Ah," Éponine rubbed her temple. "It was… I know this. Oh! It's was December 18th! I remember because it's exactly one week before Christmas and I was shopping for Azelma and Gavroche!"

Valjean and the blonde shared a wary look.

"What?" Éponine frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Éponine," Valjean looked hesitant, she knew something was extremely wrong. "December 18th of what year?"

"2010."

The stranger looked like he was about to be sick.

Éponine shrunk back sheepishly, "That's wrong isn't it?"

"Éponine," Valjean gently took her hand. "It's not December 18th, 2010."

Her eyes widened in fear, "What- What day is it?"

Valjean sighed and looked back at Enjolras, his complete weight was leaning upon the foot of the bed, his face was ashen and eyes were screwed shut. He was muttering something to himself, but Valjean couldn't make out what.

"Sébastien?" Valjean asked getting off the bed.

"Yeah?" Enjolras didn't open his eyes.

Valjean placed a hand on his shoulder, "Can you show her on your phone?"

Enjolras hesitated, but then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. As he passed the phone across the bed to hand it to Éponine, their eyes met. It was almost physically painful to look into those familiar brown orbs, the ones that had sent him such messages of deep true love, and see nothing. Éponine carefully took the phone and as she did so, their hands made contact, his skin sending a jolt through her body.

Fearful of this unfamiliar, yet pleasant shock, Éponine quickly drew the phone into her grasp and examined it. Her father had made her pull enough phone grabs to recognize it. A black iPhone protected by a hard plastic red case (the kind you just clipped on the phone). It was probably the 4th gen model, unless they had released a new one that looked exactly like the iPhone 4. She wasn't stupid, she knew she had lost memory, but she didn't have time to freak out, first she needed to know how much had been lost.

Taking a deep breath, she clicked the lock button.

She was not at all prepared for what showed up on the screen. In giant numbers, the time read 10:43 and under that was the date Saturday, 21 July.

But that's not what scared her.

What scared her was the picture.

It was of the blonde stranger, Sébastien, her Uncle Jean had called him. Sébastien was smiling brightly, wearing a navy purple polo shirt, with white accents, and a little bird figure on his right-hand breast pocket. His right arm was resting slightly on his hip, and a black watch was strapped around his wrist. His left arm was around the waist of a dark haired girl. She wore a light denim blue coloured dress, her right arm seemed to be around Sébastien's back and her left hand was adorned by a simple silver bracelet, as she held in place a blue purse that hung from her left shoulder.

The girl was smiling.

The girl was her.

Éponine looked up fearfully at the blonde stranger, half resisting the urge to chuck the phone across the room.

The blonde gave her a pained frown and glanced down, biting his lip, "It's July 21st… 2012."

She gaped at him; she had lost a year and a half? But what about her family? Her parents? Her siblings? And this picture… Swallowing hard, Éponine looked back down at the phone, and took a deep breath, gathering her courage.

Éponine looked up at the blonde, "And who are you?"

Enjolras hesitated, then, slowly, he rounded to her side and sat on the small space previously occupied by Valjean, who was watching the scene with caution. Right now, Valjean was the only thing close that she knew.

Carefully, Enjolras took the phone from Éponine; he felt her eyes on his every move. He sighed and looked down at the picture; it was from a few months ago when Éponine had sold three pieces of her art to a gallery. It had been the first time any of her works that weren't a commissioned order had sold. She had been so proud, and he had been too. He remembered how she told him that she loved him so much and didn't want anyone else but him to share that moment with her.

And now she didn't know him.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the picture for one last bit of strength and looked up directly into her eyes.

"I'm your husband," he said without a tremor.

Her eyes went wide.

In a panic, Éponine glanced to Valjean for confirmation, a pleading look on her face.

Valjean nodded.

Éponine swallowed hard, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. Her eyes shot down to the picture of her smiling with this strange man. It was then she noticed the glint of a golden band on her left hand in the picture. Her eyes shifted to her real life left hand.

Sitting on her third finger were an unfamiliar pair of rings.

Carefully her eyes trailed to the stranger's left hand. Sure enough, sitting on his ring finger was a golden wedding band.

Enjolras took a deep breath, "Éponine?"

He reached out for her.

She drew back.

Sighing, Enjolras shared a look with Valjean. The greying doctor patted Sébastien's shoulder comfortingly. With a sense of finality, Enjolras clicked the lock button on his phone, the image disappearing from sight. Just like the picture, his wife was gone.

Éponine stared at the wedding bands on her finger. There was something wrong, she couldn't possibly be married to this stranger. After all, shouldn't she be wearing a different ring on her finger?

"What happened?" Éponine looked up at the pair of men. "What about Montparnasse?"

That was Enjolras' breaking point.

He couldn't do it, he couldn't sit there and listen to her ask about that poisonous old life of hers. He couldn't listen to her speak about Montparnasse. He had worked so hard to break the hold that her family, and that gang of theirs had on Éponine.

And now?

Now it all meant nothing.

He bolted for the door.

"Sébastien!" he heard Valjean's voice call after him as the doctor followed Enjolras down the hall.

"You said things were very good," Enjolras didn't even look back at Valjean as the doctor caught up to the blonde.

"A brain injury isn't like a broken bone or a laceration," Valjean rounded in front of Enjolras, blocking his path. "Brains are much less predictable. Sometimes, due to the way the swelling tissue presses against the skull, it can cause some impairment.

"Some impairment?" Enjolras snapped. "She doesn't remember me."

Valjean frowned sympathetically, as he tried his best to explain, "Even though she's awake, the swelling can cause confusion or memory loss, erratic mood swings-"

"What?" Enjolras rubbed his temples and walked around Valjean; this was just too much to handle.

"But that's normal." Valjean called after Enjolras as the blonde passed by Combeferre being led towards Éponine's room, "Her memory is going to improve with time!"

Combeferre frowned looking between Valjean and the retreating Enjolras, "What's going on?"

Valjean sighed.

Enjolras barely looked up as he navigated the halls. He was a man with a mission, and he knew exactly where he was going.

The vending machine on the fourth floor looked exactly the same as it had the last time he had been there. Lightly, Enjolras traced the slight dent in the side of it, remembering the scream of range released as the fist slammed into it deforming the machine.

He remembered that day all too well.

Seven Months Ago

January 1, 2012

There were very few times Enjolras had seen Combeferre cry, and even rarer was the sight of the Guide having a complete breakdown. So watching as his best friend completely lost it, punching and kicking the vending machine until he was bloodied and bruised, Enjolras wasn't sure what to do.

Combeferre once more slammed his fist into the side of the machine and a terrible cry ripped from his throat. He grabbed his fist in pain, clutching it to his chest and falling to the ground. Clearly that last hit had done some damage.

Enjolras just watched silently as the older man sat on the hospital floor, back against the vending machine, head bent down, fist cradled against his chest, and hot tears trailing down his red face. Unfortunately, Enjolras had been raised by a father who would never let his son see him in any condition remotely negative or showing of weakness. As such, the habit of hiding his emotions from his peers had passed to Enjolras, as well as the inability to comfort those in such a condition. It wasn't that he didn't wish to comfort his friend, it was just seeing Combeferre having a breakdown such as this Enjolras didn't know how to, and frankly, he felt awkward about it.

"How is she?" Combeferre suddenly asked, acknowledging Enjolras, but not looking up at him.

"A little better," Enjolras sighed, crossing over to Combeferre and leaning against the wall. "She's with her parents now. Éponine took the others to the Café; Musichetta was the only one who stayed behind."

"Thanks," Combeferre offered a slight, but false, smile to Enjolras.

The younger man hesitated, looking at his best friend before deciding to sit down next to Combeferre with his back against the wall. Enjolras sat with him in awkward silence as Combeferre desperately tried to regulate his crying. Not really sure of what to do, Enjolras watched his friend uneasily for a few minutes. Enjolras frowned before reaching over and stiffly patted Combeferre on the arm.

Combeferre couldn't help but laugh at his friend's awkwardness, "Thanks, Enjolras."

"Sorry," Enjolras sighed. "I'm not used to this whole comforting people thing. Usually that's Marie's job, but…"

Combeferre bit his lip, "Yeah."

The boy sat in silence.

"I just," Combeferre finally spoke. "I just don't understand."

"Well," Enjolras leaned back against the wall, "sometimes these things just happen."

"Nothing ever just happens."

"Sure it does."

"No it doesn't!" Combeferre snapped, anger taking over. "My whole life, my faith, my belief system rested solely on the fact that for every why there is an answer. There has to be a reason."

Enjolras sighed, "Then maybe you need to realise that sometimes you can't have the answer to everything. Sometimes you just have to leave some things alone."

The silence returned.

"God, look at me," Combeferre put his head into his good hand. "I'm supposed to be strong and supporting Marie right now, instead I'm sobbing pitifully on a hospital floor."

"Look," Enjolras said, "I may be crap at giving advice, but there is something my mother always told me in situations like this."

"What's that?"

"You can't hold up a roof when the pillars are crumbling."

Combeferre sighed, "So you think I should let the building fall?"

"I don't know," Enjolras shook his head and glanced at Combeferre. "But I do know one thing."

"What's that?" Combeferre half-heartedly looked up at his friend.

Enjolras smirked, "You need to get that hand checked out."

Combeferre shook his head and laughed.

Present Day

July 21, 2012

10:53 AM

"Careful," Enjolras heard Combeferre's voice as he slammed a fist into the vending machine. "You wouldn't want to break your hand like I did."

"If I did, then at least I'd have something else to focus on," Enjolras' frown didn't leave his face as he slammed fist into the cold metal. "Valjean tell you about Éponine?"

"Yep," Combeferre crossed his arms watching his friend. Considering how beat up the vending machine looked in general, he would wager that this was an often enough occurrence in the hospital that the staff had simply given up on protecting the machine and let people get their frustration out. "I'm so sorry, Enjolras."

"Sorry doesn't make anything better," Enjolras' mind was focused solely on pounding the machine. "You of all people should know that."

Combeferre sympathetic smile faltered.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras stopped his pounding and hung his head. Resting his head in his hands, Enjolras put his back to the machine and slid down onto the floor.

"That's alright," Combeferre shrugged. "I think you're entitled to acting out a little bit right now."

"I mean amnesia? That only happens in the movies," Enjolras looked to his friend, a brokenness and loss etched on his face unlike any other Combeferre had ever seen before.

"Unfortunately, it's a real thing."

"I never should have let her come to that rally."

"She would have come anyway," Combeferre pointed out.

"Then I should have stayed with her," Enjolras said.

"It was the crowd that separated you."

"I should have stopped her from grabbing the gun."

"You weren't close enough, if anything it was Marius or I that should have done it."

"I should have found some way to prevent this."

"If you could have you would have."

"I should be able to find some way to blame myself for this!" Enjolras screamed at his friend.

Combeferre took a long silent look at Enjolras and then simply said, "But you can't."

Enjolras glared at his friend, their gazes unbreaking.

Suddenly they burst out laughing; the situation was just too absurd. Combeferre slowly joined his friend on the floor as the pair let out all that emotion and nervous energy.

"Oh God," Enjolras put his head in his hands as his ragged breaths fought between laughter and giving in to the need to cry. "My life is so screwed up. How am I going to tell Zelma and Gavroche? You know she still thinks she's engaged to Montparnasse."

Combeferre shifted awkwardly.

"What?" Enjolras asked sensing there was more to his friend's look than Combeferre projected.

"Well," Combeferre frowned, "with the memory loss, I'm just worried about the case against him."

Enjolras stiffened, he hadn't thought of that.

"It'll be fine, I mean," Enjolras' brow furrowed as he worked through the problem before him, "there's other witnesses."

"But a lot of it is circumstantial and he said, she said," Combeferre reminded his friend. "I know you're just an intern, but as someone who works in a law firm, give me your professional opinion, without her testimony, does the case have a chance?"

Enjolras was silent for a good long while.

"No."

Combeferre tilted his head sympathetically, "I think…"

Enjolras looked at his friend as the Guide struggled to get his next words out.

"I think you should call them," Combeferre finished.

Enjolras groaned, "Combeferre-"

"If you don't tell them, someone else will," Combeferre firmly cut off his friend. "I mean for God's sake, I understand how you could avoid him, but I don't know how you've managed to hold her off for so long already."

"It's not something she needs to know."

"I don't understand why you won't tell her."

"Because she'll tell him! And that's the last thing I need right now!"

"She's your social worker!" Combeferre yelled. Sometimes Enjolras pushed the Guide just a little too hard. "If you don't tell her and she finds out from someone else, it's not going to end well. You could lose Azelma and Gavroche! And I'm guessing relocation isn't something high on Azelma's list when her wedding is only a few months away."

"And if I tell her now?" Enjolras bit. "Before we've figured out how to deal with this? I will lose them."

"Enjolras, you're already running a great risk because of your relationship with her. I mean, not everyone's social worker is also-"

"That relationship is already noted and accepted by her superiors, and the only thing that's bought me this much time so far!"

"Which is more important to you?" Combeferre snapped. "Avoiding an awkward personal situation? Or losing Azelma and Gavroche? Because with Éponine like this and your relationship with your parents as it currently is, those two are all the family you have left. Can you really afford to lose that?"

Enjolras stared at him silently, the words sinking in. Combeferre was right.

"No," Enjolras simply said. He exhaled, pausing silently for a few minutes before finally conceding, "I'll call her, have her come over to the house and explain the situation to her."

Combeferre patted his friend's leg, "She'll be understanding, Enjolras."

"I know," Enjolras sighed. "But I want to do it on Wednesday. Give me some time to work out the situation a little, figure out where things are, then bring in that complicated mess."

"Alright," Combeferre frowned. "But if she asks, I said to do it right away."

"Fine."

Combeferre watched his friend, Enjolras was silent but the struggle to withhold his sorrow and all the negative emotions other than anger was evident on his face.

"You know, a wise man once told me that you can't hold up a roof when the pillars are crumbling." Combeferre looked at Enjolras, "Maybe you should let the building fall."

Enjolras looked up at his friend, a heart wrenching look on his face, "But what if you've lost the plans for the building and you don't know how to fix it?"

Enjolras looked so lost.

Combeferre took a deep breath, "Well, if the plans are truly lost, which we don't know for sure yet, but if they are, then you can only do one thing."

"What's that?"

"Start from scratch and make a better building. But for now," Combeferre patted his friend on the shoulder, "let it fall."

"I am never having another wedding!"

Jehan arched a brow, glancing up from his catalogue, "As the person you are having a wedding with, I must say, I'm a little relieved."

"I didn't mean it like that!" Azelma playfully swatted his shoulder. "It's just so expensive!"

Jehan glanced over at the spreadsheet blinking on the screen of the laptop opened in front of his fiancée. The dining room table of the Enjolras/Thénardier household was covered with various wedding materials as the future bride and groom desperately tried to get everything done in time for their wedding which was frighteningly in eight weeks to the day.

"That's how many zeros?" Jehan asked eyes fixed on the line that read Grand Total.

"I know," Azelma groaned typing something on the keyboard so fast her fiancé couldn't follow it.

As an engagement gift they had received a memory stick for their wedding planning, and Azelma had everything stored perfectly on it. Charts and spreadsheets, and mock ups of place cards and even a multicolored pie chart of the estimated time it would take before Grantaire would be drunk so they could plan accordingly. Honestly, Azelma had everything perfectly organized; planning their wedding had been surprisingly fluid for Azelma. She seemed to have a knack for this event planning thing. But the only thing she wasn't able to control was the budget.

"I mean I'm not asking for a 20,000 euro wedding," Azelma frowned at the screen, willing the number to miraculously lessen.

"Well maybe we can find some places to make some cuts?" Jehan suggested.

"Where? I am we've already cut this wedding down as much as possible. The girls bought their own dresses, the guys are wearing their suits from Marius' wedding, I'm wearing a second-hand dress that Juliette's tailoring for free, we're getting that cake deal thanks to Feuilly, Uncle Valjean's old foster parent is officiating; Aunt Fantine is having the girls from her salon do hair and makeup for free. We literally have nowhere else to cut down or get a discount. Not to mention Enjolras and Éponine are giving us 1000 euros, and so are your parents."

"So, exactly how much are we over budget by?"

Azelma tapped a few keys, then groaned and set her head on the table, "2000."

Jehan's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. On paper, their 5000 euro budget seemed like more than enough, but in reality they were nearing about 7000, no matter how many cuts they made.

"Hey," As his fiancée looked up at him, Jehan reached out, took one of her hands in his and gently pressed a kiss to it. "Are you okay?"

Azelma sighed, "I'm fine, it's just with all that's happened lately, I'm getting really stressed out."

"Just remember that you don't have to do this alone," Jehan said. "I always will be, no matter what."

"You always have been," Azelma grinned at her fiancé, "even on the day we met."

One Year Ago

April 8, 2011

There was nothing worse to a high school student than being forced to stay after school in detention on a Friday. But there Jean Prouvaire was, sitting at a cheap cramped desk, watching as the minute hand on the wall clock ticked slowly by.

He rubbed his sore cheek; although he had no mirror to check, there was undoubtedly a large bruise forming there. It had been inflicted by the same three boys that were sitting four rows back and bouncing paper balls off the back of his head whenever the teacher supervising the delinquents wasn't watching.

"Ignore them. Ignore them," Jehan chanted in his head as his gripped the desk tightly and tried to think of better things.

He pictured his friends who formed the group called Les Amis de l'ABC. He pictured what they would do if they found out what those idiots had done to not only the youngest Amis, but an actual blood relative, the little cousin of their resident hypochondriac. He pictured how all the boys, even Enjolras, would team up to take revenge on the idiots who dare hurt one of their ranks. The worst would seem to be Bahorel, just due to how well-known the man was for fighting, but Enjolras was capable of being terrible. Even the patient guide, Combeferre, was pretty badass in a fight, although the rest of the boys might have to pry his cousin, Joly from the group as no one messed with one cousin without facing the other. Feuilly would also be an adversary, as out of the group, Jehan was probably closest to the fan maker, though Grantaire was quite protective of Jehan too. And as for Courfeyrac-

Another paper ball bounced off Jehan's head.

Jehan breathed deeply, looking at the clock: there was only five minutes to go.

He looked around the room, desperately searching for a distraction when suddenly his eyes caught a glimpse of red. It was the only other person in the detention room, the red had been her hair, but it wasn't the orange red colour that Jehan had, but rather a brunette red that, judging by the darker brown roots, was not her natural colour.

Jehan frowned, he couldn't help but feel he had seen her somewhere before. He stared intently at the redhead, trying to place her.

After a while, the girl began to fidget uncomfortably, it was almost like she knew he was watching her. Jehan's suspicions were confirmed when she looked back at him. He lowered his eyes quickly, but after a moment, he couldn't help but glance up, hoping to recognize her.

He was met with one of the dirtiest glares he had ever seen.

"What?" she mouthed to him, which, had it been spoken, would no doubt have been accompanied by a dangerous tone.

Jehan blushed and lowered his eyes, the implications of staring at a strange girl, setting in his head. He opened his mouth to apologize, but he was cut off by the teacher overseeing them.

"Alright boys and girls, you can leave now. Have a good weekend, and try not to do any property damage on your way out."

The redheaded girl grabbed her bag and was out of the door in an instant.

Jehan sighed; he had definitely screwed that up.

"See you Monday, Fag," one of the boys who had hit Jehan knocked over the poetry book that had been sitting on Jehan's desk.

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he shoved his books into his bag.

He had to get the hell out of there.

"Hey!"

Jehan started, dropping his keys which had been fumbling in the lock of his car when the moment of shock had happened. He turned around and saw the redheaded girl stalking across the parking lot toward him.

He took a deep breath, "Yes?"

"What's your problem?" the redhead came to a stop in front of him, hand poised on her hip and an angry glare fixed on Jehan.

"I'm sorry?" the Poet stuttered.

"Why the hell were you staring at me?" she snapped.

"I'm sorry," Jehan started. "I just-"

He was suddenly cut off by the song Bad Reputation blaring from the girl's bag.

"One minute." The redhead dug a phone out of her bag and flipped it open, "Hello? Oh hey Ep… Yeah I'm out of detention now… Oh you better be sorry, I had to sit in a room of creepy guys who stare at me and will probably end up either flipping burgers for minimum wage or in prison."

The girl paused, listening to the person on the other end of the line, Ep or something like that. It was almost as if she had forgotten her anger at Jehan as she casually leaned against his old banged up car.

"You want me to what?" the redhead's eyebrows knitted together. "No I can't babysit tomorrow! … What do you mean I don't have a choice? What if I have plans? … Okay, the fact that I don't have plans, or friends, shouldn't affect that you can't just drop something like this on me… Well what's so important that I have to sacrifice my Saturday? … You have a date? With who? … Who the hell is Ingjolras? And what happened to that hideously inappropriate crush? … On who? Marius! Marius Pontmercy? Our cousin's new husband and the guy you've been in love with since August… Whatever, fine, I'll see you tonight… Yeah, bye. UGH!"

The redhead let out an exasperated groan and leaned forward on the car after hanging up the phone.

She glanced over at Jehan, "What are you looking at?"

"Marius Pontmercy!" Jehan exclaimed, the pieces finally clicking in his head. "That's where I know you from!"

"I'm sorry?" she raised a brow at him.

"Sorry, I was staring at you before because I was trying to remember where I know you from," Jehan explained. "You were at Marius Pontmercy's wedding, right?"

"Uh, yeah," she adjusted herself so it was her back leaning against the car, not her front. "The bride is my cousin."

"Yeah, I think we had a dance or two. I'm Jean Prouvaire."

"Oh right, Jean," she nodded. "I remember, you have the same name as my uncle. I'm Azelma Thénardier."

His eyes widened slightly, he hadn't heard her last name at the wedding, and he couldn't help but remember the way the name Thénardier had been splashed across every newspaper and on every news show back in January.

"Nice to see you again, Azelma," Jehan extended his hand.

There must have been something in his face, because Azelma lightly bit her lip and said, "And yes, my father is the Thénardier the police have been looking for. Don't worry, I'm used to the staring and whispers by now."

"I wouldn't whisper about you, and as for the staring, I was just so focused on trying to place you that I didn't even think about if I was being rude or not. I'm sorry."

"That's okay," she shrugged. "So, Jean Prouvaire, what brings you to the hall of delinquents? Let me guess, you attempted to do some of your social justice activism? That's what your group does, right?"

"Yes, but that's not why I got detention," Jehan ran a hand through his hair. "I got in a fight."

"Well that would explain this," Azelma lightly touched the bruise on his jaw. Jehan shuddered at her touch, though he couldn't still if it was from the pain of her touching the bruise, or the pleasure of her touching him.

"Yeah, apparently you can't work in a flower shop and write poetry without being called a homosexual," Jehan sighed. "It doesn't help that the whole school knows that my cousin has a boyfriend and a girlfriend… Or whatever the hell those three do."

"So you hit a guy for calling you a homosexual?"

"No, I punched one guy for calling my cousin 'a fairy who can't get his own girl' and then the three of them jumped me. Thank God that I've been boxing since I was thirteen."

"You must be good to get away with only that bruise."

"Thanks, but I'll be sore tomorrow," he reddened slightly. "So what's your crime? I heard your parents are pretty hardcore."

Her face hardened, "You mean my mother's in jail, my father is France's Most Wanted and my sister is testifying against her ex-fiancé? I'm not like my family, I don't deserve my bad reputation and I don't appreciate anyone assuming I do."

"You might want to consider changing your ringtone then," Jehan pointed out.

"But it's my jam," Azelma smirked. "Truth be told, I got detention due to a misunderstanding."

"How so?"

"My sister and I were out shopping a couple of weeks ago and this store was having a 2 for 1 deal on these amazing faux leather jackets. We both adored them so we decided to each get them. The problem is that they're identical, and I guess I grabbed my sister's by accident this morning. Had I known they were doing locker checks today, I would have checked which jacket I took before I got to school. When they checked my locker, they found my sister's cigarettes in a jacket pocket."

"Ouch," Jehan winced.

Azelma nodded, "Tell me about it. So I get hauled down to the principal's office, and they phoned my sister. She explains the mix-up and the principal says that he understands, but there's still the fact that an underage girl has cigarettes in her locker, so I have one day's detention because I grabbed the wrong jacket. Oh, and the worst part? My bus pass was in my real jacket, which is at home, and now I have to walk thirteen blocks home."

Jehan frowned, "Thirteen blocks? Isn't that like a mile? Aren't there any high schools closer to where you live?"

"Yeah, but we don't exactly live in a 'nice' neighbourhood, and at that high school I have like a 3 in 1 chance of getting shot, pregnant or in jail before graduation." Azelma sighed and rested her bag on top of the trunk of Jehan's car, "Sorry I snapped at you, it's just been a bad day."

"I know what you mean," Jehan's eyes narrowed at something over Azelma's shoulder.

She looked at what had caught Jehan's attention, it was the three idiots the Poet had gotten into a fight with.

"What are they still doing here?" Jehan gritted his teeth.

"Probably doing damage to school property," Azelma muttered. "That or they shared a pack of crap cigarettes in the boys' locker room."

"Crap cigarettes?" Jehan raised an eyebrow, setting his backpack on the trunk next to Azelma's bag.

Azelma shrugged, "Just because I don't smoke, doesn't mean I know there's a difference between quality tobacco and the shit they get their brothers' to buy for them."

"Well guys, look what we have here," the guy who had knocked over Jehan's book, and clearly the leader of the trio laughed as they approached the Poet and the Thénardier. "The Fag found a friend."

"And a Thénardier too," the second guy pointed out. "I guess it's true what they say, trash of a feather, flocks together."

Jehan glared at the boys, "It's birds of a feather, flocks together."

"Whatever, Fag," the Leader snorted. The other boys laughed and gave him a high five.

Azelma raised a brow, "You must live a sad life if that insult merits a high five."

"Don't you think you're a little cheap to be using big words," the Leader snapped. "Hell, if I know what merits is supposed to mean."

"Well that doesn't surprise me," Azelma smirked, "after all you seem to only know one synonym for homosexual."

"What the fuck does cinnamon have to do with Fags?" the Leader seemed to be turning red, though whether that was from anger, humiliation or both was uncertain. "Why don't you stop using stupid fancy language and I can show you a real use for your mouth?"

Though she was glaring at the trio as they laughed and high fived, the only action Azelma made was holding back the fist that was forming at Jehan's side. Oddly enough, the feeling of her touch seemed to relax him for some reason.

Seeing that he wasn't able to get a reaction out of Azelma, the Leader smirked and gave it one last try.

"Come on guys," the Leader said, "let's leave the trash with the trash. Say Hi to your fairy cousin for me Prouvaire."

Jehan gritted his teeth as the trio walked past The Poet and Azelma, though the Leader's friends frowned at each other in confusion with their apparent defeat.

"Oh and Azelma?" The Leader stopped and turned back to the girl, "If your sister has a mouth like yours, I can't help but feel like she only got what she deserved."

It must have been instinct acting, because Jehan wasn't even aware of him locking his arms around Azelma's waist and holding her back until he felt her struggling against his chest. The Leader smirked at the Thénardier, and in final insult, he knocked over the bags off Jehan's trunk. Azelma's bag must have been undone as her possessions spilled across the ground as the trio walked away, of course laughing and high fiving away.

"It's okay," Jehan held her tight. Though they didn't know each other very well, he couldn't help but feel it were the most natural thing in the world to rest his head on her shoulder and whisper into her ear as he kept his arms tight, but gently in his grasp, "Remember, they will probably end up flipping burgers for minimum wage."

She blinked a tear from her eye, and whispered, "Or in prison."

He couldn't help but resist the urge to wipe away the tear rolling down her cheek.

It was about then that their position registered in their minds.

Clearing his throat, Jehan released Azelma from his arms, and she began to pick up her items that were scattered across the parking lot. Not really sure what to say, Jehan bent down and helped her collect her items.

His hand froze, before him was a book of poetry.

"Robert Frost?" Jehan held up the book. "I didn't know you were a fan."

"I'm not," Azelma shoved a textbook into her bag. "I have no idea what the hell he's saying half the time, and the other half, when I think I do know what he's saying, my teacher says I'm wrong."

"There's no such thing as being wrong in literature," Jehan said. "It's your interpretation and nobody gets to tell you what to think."

Azelma raised a brow challengingly, "What if you think The Road Not Taken is about picking onions?"

"I could actually see some arguments for that," Jehan shrugged.

Azelma laughed, "Well I'm not that bad."

"Out of curiosity, if you don't like poetry, why do you have a Robert Frost book?"

"Oh, it's a school project, I'm supposed to do a presentation on the life of a poet and the meaning behind five of his poems. I got assigned Robert Frost."

"But Frost is American, shouldn't they have assigned French poets?"

Azelma laughed, "Yeah right, name five French poets and we'll talk."

"Guillaume Apollinaire, Jean François de Saint-Lambert, Henri Auguste Barbier, Joachim Gasquet, and Victor Hugo," Jehan recited without hesitation.

Azelma blinked at him.

"I like poetry," Jehan said.

"I can tell," Azelma nodded. "The problem is, I can't figure out how I'm going to do this project if I have no idea what he's saying."

"Well, an easy one would be The Road Not Taken," Jehan suggested as he began flipping through the book, looking for a couple poems to recommend. "It's a classic about the what ifs in life, and if taking the hard road has better rewards than the easy one. A couple more good ones are Fire and Ice and Nothing Gold Can Stay."

"Well, my teacher suggested Bond And Free, is that a good one?"

Jehan beamed, "One of the best. It's about the difference between Love and Thought, and how one keeps you grounded to earth and the other gives you the freedom to soar."

"So, Thought is better than Love?"

"Well that's the question the poem asks; though Thought gives you freedom, the safety of Love is far more liberating."

Azelma smiled, "Thanks, that helps a lot."

"Only happy to help," Jehan nodded handing her back the book.

Azelma hesitated, taking the book and putting it back into her bag, "Well, I should probably get going, I have a long walk ahead of me."

"I guess so," Jehan sighed.

She fastened her bag shut and threw it around one shoulder before giving Jehan one last smile and starting on her way. Jehan watched her go, a debate raging in his head as he gathered his courage.

"Hey, Azelma!" he called.

She turned back to him, "Yeah?"

Jehan hesitated, "Do you- Do you want a ride?"

Azelma frowned, "Isn't it out of your way?"

"Not really," he shrugged. "My parents aren't expecting me home until midnight and I was just going to go hang out at the Café with the Amis until our meeting starts. I have plenty of time to give you a ride if you don't have your bus pass."

She approached the car, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, hop in."

"Alright," she grinned practically running back to the car.

Jehan had unlocked the passenger door, and the two teens slipped into the car, throwing their bags into the backseat.

Suddenly a thought occurred to Jehan, "Hey, Azelma?"

"Yeah?" she buckled into her seat.

"You don't also keep your keys in your jacket, do you?"

Azelma patted her jacket pocket.

"Merde."

Jehan weakly smiled, "Perhaps your sister will let you in?"

"No," Azelma groaned. "She's out running errands with Gavroche, she has to meet with the lawyers and then our social worker and then she's dropping off Gavroche at seven before going to her night class. She said she wouldn't have a moment to spare until then. Merde! What am I going to do? I guess I could call Aunt Fantine or Uncle Valjean and see if they have keys, and if they don't I guess I might be able to stay there until Éponine gets home. Oh, but if I'm at their home, that means that Éponine won't have time to pick me up and bring me home before class, and she'll be too tired afterwards. I might have to stay the night."

The Poet thought for a moment, "Or…"

Azelma looked at her driver.

"I know this little coffee shop attached to a second hand book store," Jehan continued. "Maybe we could go there and talk some more about your project and then I can take you home in time for your sister to let you in?"

Azelma raised a brow at him, "Like a date?"

"If you want to put a label on it," Jehan shrugged.

Azelma thought for a minute and then smiled, "Lead the way, Jean."

"Please," Jehan grinned, turning the keys in the ignition, "call me Jehan."

Present Day

July 21, 2012

11:39 AM

"His gains in heaven are what they are.

Yet some say Love by being thrall,

And simply staying possesses all,

In several beauty that Thought fares far,

To find fused in another star," Jehan recited, pressing another gentle kiss to his fiancée's hands.

"Bond And Free," Azelma smiled recognizing the words of the poem that had brought them together. "You know I still don't know what the hell he was saying."

"I know," Jehan laughed, pressing a kiss to her lips. "I know."

Azelma frowned, "Who said you were allowed to stop kissing me?"

Jehan laughed again before pressing his lips back to his fiancée's. Azelma returned his kiss with quite the vigor as she slipping her hand in his short red curls and pulled him in harder. He returned the action, weaving a hand into her own hair as she eased open his mouth and slipped a playful tongue in. After a few minutes of tongue play, Jehan broke the kiss and began trailing his mouth down her soft neck as he slowly eased her into his lap.

"OI! THERE ARE CHILDREN IN THE HOUSE!" an all too familiar voice destroyed the moment.

"Gavroche," Azelma hissed, still perched in her fiancé's lap. "What are you doing? I thought you were playing in your room."

"I'm hungry," Gavroche frowned. "Or at least I was…"

"Lunch should be here soon," Jehan shifted Azelma back into her chair and smoothed out his clothing, redoing his top bottom which Azelma had worked on in their make out session. "We were just-"

"I know what you were doing," Gavroche flopped onto the couch in the living room. "I live with Enjolras and Éponine."

"Anyways," Jehan just shook his head and grabbed the catalogue sitting in front of him. "We still need to make a final decision on the flowers. My boss said that if we want that discount that we need to get in our order tomorrow and we still need to make your bouquet."

"Alright," Azelma opened the catalogue of the flower shop Jehan worked at and began flipping through.

To say it was a flower shop was actually almost insulting. It was a high end florist that had been featured in magazines all over the world throughout the years. Walking into the shop was like walking into an art gallery. Jehan worked as one of the store's more prominent arrangers (or "stylists" as his official title was) and had shot to the top of the list of most requested store stylists when an arrangement of his made the cover of a high end bridal magazine two months ago. He had even reached a little bit of five minutes of fame when the magazine people had found out that the man who had made their cover feature was engaged, and did a brief one page interview with Jehan and Azelma on their tips to cut down their wedding budget in the last month's issue. Azelma had had both their interview and Jehan's cover, framed.

"Why don't we just go with red roses?" Azelma gestured to a page that had beautiful wedding arrangements splashed across it.

Jehan chuckled kindly, "I thought you wanted to cut the cost of our wedding. Red roses are the most expensive flower."

Azelma groaned putting her hand down on the magazine, "Then what do you suggest?"

"Well, if your heart is set on having roses," he gently moved her head off the magazine and flipped a few pages, "maybe we could do primroses? I'd recommend maybe light pink if you have a white wedding dress."

"Are you trying to figure out what my dress looks like?"

"Zelma, Mon Amour, you know I was the one who suggested not seeing you in your dress until our wedding. I want that moment when I get to see you walk down the aisle all beautifully done up, though it's impossible to imagine you being more beautiful than you always are."

"Oh, sweet, kind, romantic, thoughtful, and a terrible force to reckon with when you're mad," Azelma smiled. "God was having a good day when he made you."

"Though not as good as when he made you," Jehan murmured gently brushing his lips to hers once more.

"OI! Child present!" Gavroche called out before anything more could happen.

"Remind me why we couldn't have stuck him at Courfeyrac's today?" Azelma grumbled.

"Let's be honest," Jehan replied, "we wouldn't have gotten any work done today."

Azelma laughed, and then point back at the magazine, "So, pink primroses, what do they mean? You know I wanted a bouquet arranged with flowers that have meaning."

"They mean," Jehan flipped to the back of the magazine where they listed the meanings of the various flowers. It was something the shop was known for doing, and how Enjolras had once used a bouquet of jonquils to hint that his romantic suit towards Éponine had not gone cold. "They mean young love."

"Well, I think that's appropriate," Azelma smiled half-heartedly.

Quite a lot of people hadn't been able to withhold their opinion that at only 18 and 19 (when the wedding was to be performed) Azelma and Jehan were too young to be married. She would snap back that it apparently wasn't too young to decide her future career, as Azelma famously had yet to decide her post-secondary plans as well. She told anyone who questioned the marriage that if she was old enough to decide what she wanted to do with her life, she was old enough to decide who she wanted to spend it with.

"So, the bouquet is going to just be primroses?" Azelma asked Jehan, after all, he was the professional.

"No," Jehan replied, "they make better space fillers. I think we need to add another flower. What did we pick for the bridesmaids bouquets?"

"Uh," Azelma typed something in her computer, "lilium rubellum… whatever the hell those are."

"They're a type of pink Japanese lilies," he didn't look up as he flipped through the flower magazine looking for a complementing flower. "Alright, not to be too stereotypical, but how about white lilies? I know they're at like every wedding, but they mean purity, so…"

Jehan blushed and looked over at Gavroche, hoping the boy hadn't overheard. The first thought that people had had when they heard of the engagement was that Azelma was pregnant, which almost led to Enjolras killing Jehan. The fact was both the bride and the groom would be going into their wedding night as virgins, a fact that really shouldn't have shocked people as much as it did. After all, they were only 17 and 18 at the time. When they had found out each other hadn't sleep with anyone else, they had decided to wait for marriage, which some people suspected was the reason for the quick marriage, but the truth was that they loved each other and knew they didn't want to ever be with anyone else.

"Don't worry," Azelma smiled taking her fiancé's hand, some of the guys had given the Poet a rather hard time about his innocence, "I want this to be as traditional as possible. It what I've always dreamed of."

"Lilies it is," Jehan nodded and gently kissed her yet again.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"One of these days, we'll kiss without be interrupted," Azelma sighed, pushing her chair out and standing up.

Jehan groaned, getting out if his own chair, "I swear if we're interrupted on our wedding day-"

Azelma laughed, and grabbed his hand. They made their way to the door that doubled on an entrance into the kitchen, as well as the house itself.

In all fairness, it was a small house.

Opening the door, Azelma instantly beamed, "Marius! Cosette! Aunt Fantine!"

If it had been any other day, Azelma gladly would have hugged her aunt, cousin and cousin-in-law in greeting but currently her aunt was holding a large garment bag, her cousin a large pizza box, and her cousin-in-law a large bouquet of flowers from Jehan's shop.

"What's with the flowers?" Jehan asked as the trio entered the house and Gavroche dashed up to Cosette, her being the bearer of lunch.

"Oh, I was hoping that we might get to see Éponine sometime today, so I bought her a bouquet of her favorite flowers," Marius explained.

"Remember what Jean said, Marius," Fantine reminded her son-in-law, "we'll only see her if everything's going good and Enjolras says he thinks she's up to more visitors."

"Daisies?" Jehan raised a brow at Marius. "Have you seriously not gotten it yet? Éponine's favorite flowers are daffodils, or specifically jonquils, which in all fairness a type of daffodil… kind of."

Everyone stared at Jehan.

"Oh yeah, big surprise, Jehan knows what everyone's favorite flowers are!" Jehan held up his hands in defense, "You people buy them from me enough to know! Éponine's are daffodils, Azelma's are tiger lilies, which are why we're using them in the decorations. Fantine's are red roses, Cosette's are sunflowers, Marie peonies, Juliette pansies, and for Musichetta, orchids if they come from Joly, but lilacs if they come from Bossuet."

Everyone stared at Jehan.

"So anyways," Azelma cleared her throat, "he's right, she likes daffodils, not daisies."

"They used to be her favorite," Marius objected.

"No, they've always been daffodils," Azelma corrected, "but you always mixed them up with daisies and she used to pretend that they were her favorite when you got them, because she didn't want to upset you and she was madly in love with you."

Marius frowned, "Oh."

Cosette laughed, "Don't worry, she'll still love them, it's the thought that counts."

"So are we having lunch or not?" Gavroche asked, bored of all the flower talk. The group had decided to have lunch together in case Enjolras called and said that Éponine could have visitors, and they had first right to visiting her as her family.

"Why don't the boys dish out lunch while we go look at what I brought," Fantine suggested gesturing with the garment bag in her hands.

Azelma gasped, as if she had just seen the bag for the first time, "Is that?"

Fantine smiled, "I got it from Ginette this morning."

Azelma squealed loudly, "Oh my god! I have to try it on!"

"Alright," Fantine laughed, handing the bag over to her niece, "but Juliette hasn't done the adjustments just yet, so it may not fit."

"I don't care!" Azelma practically ran out of the room and down the hall with Cosette and Fantine following her into her room.

"What is that?" Jehan frowned as he, Gavroche and Marius began grabbing plates to put the pizza on.

"Oh, it's the wedding dress Azelma is buying from the girl at Fantine's salon," Marius replied.

A loud squeal suddenly came from across the house.

"I think she likes at," Jehan shook his head, opening the pizza box. "Is there onion on this?"

"Yeah," Marius placed a slice on a plate and handed to Gavroche, who scampered back to the living room couch. "Why?"

"Zelma hates onion, but at least you made sure there were olives, those are her favorite. I mean I can't stand them, but they're easy enough to pick off," Jehan frowned laying a pair of pizza slices onto two plates and began picking off the olives off of one slice and transferring them to the second slice, that he was picking the onions off of.

"Isn't that a little much?" Marius laughed. "Couldn't she do that herself?"

"It's called romance, Pontmercy," Jehan teasingly chucked an olive at Marius' forehead. "You could use a lesson or two in it."

"Jehan, don't throw olives at Marius," Fantine re-entered the living room, the girls trailing behind her.

"Yes, Madame Valjean," Jehan smirked as the girls came and grabbed their slices of pizza.

"Thanks for picking the onions off," Azelma kissed her fiancé's cheek, and Jehan shot Marius a look.

"So, anyone have any ideas as to what to do while we wait to hear from Enjolras?" Cosette asked.

"If it's wedding planning, I'm out of here," Gavroche replied looking at his sister. "I'm still upset you asked Enjolras to give you away instead of me."

Azelma sighed, not wanting to have that conversation again, "Why don't we just throw in a movie? Anything's fine."

"That sounds perfect," Fantine nodded.

"I'll grab something," Jehan offered.

He was heading towards the library room when suddenly a phone began to ring. Fantine frowned, recognizing it as her own, and crossed over to where she had dropped her purse on the counter. She dug out her cell phone and then her eyes widened.

"Who is it?" Cosette asked as Jehan walked over to stand beside Azelma.

"It's your step-father," Fantine stared at the display flashing the name Jean across its screen. She quickly answered it, "Hello? … Yes, Hi Jean. What's going on? … Why? … Well is she okay? … No, I understand… Yes, we'll be right there… Love you too… Alright, goodbye."

"What's going on?" Azelma frowned as Fantine hang up the phone and began collecting pizza plates and transferring them back into the pizza box.

"That was Jean," Fantine explained, "he needs us to get to the hospital now, there's something wrong with Éponine."

Without a word, Marius began helping his mother-in-law put away the lunch as Cosette steered Gavroche towards the door and Jehan grabbed his car keys from the counter.

"What's wrong with Éponine?" Azelma couldn't move, she felt like she was going to be sick. "Is she alright?"

"He said she was fine physically but that we need to get there right away," Fantine replied. "He said it was something that shouldn't be told over the phone."

Jehan looked between his future in-laws and his pale fiancée.

"You know what, why don't you two take Gavroche ahead? I'll take Azelma in my car," Jehan placed a comforting hand on Azelma's shoulder.

Fantine nodded with understanding, "Alright. Come on, let's get to the hospital."

Fantine, Cosette, Gavroche, and Marius, who was sure to collect his daisies, piled out the door, allowing the engaged couple a moment alone.

"Are you okay?" Jehan asked Azelma carefully, knowing very well that the look on her face meant she was withholding tears.

"Jehan," Azelma's voice shook, "I'm scared."

"Hey," Jehan softly said, positioning himself in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders forcing her into a position of both authority and comfort where she could look him in the eye and hold him in need be. "Everything's going to be alright."

Azelma sobbed and put her head on his shoulder and wept. He instantly wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

"Everything's going to be alright," he whispered into her hair, rocking her gently from side to side.

"Do you promise?" she managed between sobs.

"No," he stroked her head. "But I promise to do whatever it takes to make things alright."

For a few minutes they simply stood there, holding each other as he whispered sweet reassurances to his future bride. Then, when he body stopped shaking, Azelma pulled back.

"Are you ready?" Jehan asked.

"Yes," Azelma sniffed, rubbing her eyes and taking his hand firmly. "Let's go see what's wrong with Éponine."

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