Chapter One
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The last time Azelma Thenardier had been to the Café Musain, she'd been trying to save her sister's life. This time, she was trying to save her own.
Through the front windows of the café, she could see her sister surrounded by the bunch of rich students she called friends. Her sister's head was tipped back in laughter, and she had her hand wrapped up in the hands of the fair-haired, bespectacled man sat beside her. Azelma remembered him – Montparnasse had given him a nickname, the dickhead – from the last time she'd been, remembered how agitated he had got.
It figured they were a couple. Azelma mentally crossed him off her list.
Taking in a deep breath, she hitched her hold-all further up her shoulder and then shoved open the café door. She let the door shut behind her. She hesitated, standing there, fidgeting with the hem of her hooded jacket.
None of them were looking at her; they were too engrossed in whatever chat they were having. She stepped towards them.
"Éponine?" she said, her voice wavering.
It was not actually Éponine who looked up first, but the man holding her hand. Then Éponine looked up. She looked different, and not in a bad way. Her face was fuller, her eyes brighter, her clothes nicer. Some of the happiness that had been in her face when Azelma had first seen her died away once she met Azelma's gaze.
"What are you doing here?" she said. Her hand slipped out of the man's, flexing against her knee.
"I need some help," Azelma said. She adjusted the strap of her bag once more. "Please," she added. Tears burned hot behind her eyes. "You know I wouldn't ask if I didn't need it."
"Sit down," Éponine said, with a sigh. One of her friends, a cheerfully smiling man with cheeky eyes, jumped out of the armchair he'd been sitting on and gestured at it with his arm.
"You can have my seat," he said, his smile warm and encouraging.
Azelma sank into the chair. The cushions were wonderfully soft on her muscles, tense with nerves, and were warmed by the man's body heat. She sat her hold-all on her knee and wrapped her arms around it. "Thanks," she muttered, keeping her eyes down on the bag.
She could feel the eyes of Éponine and her friends burning into her, wanting an explanation. She cleared her throat, preparing to say something, but words failed her. How did she explain this? Her eyes flickered up, and met Éponine's. Éponine's gaze was hard, but not entirely unfriendly. Her teeth were sinking into her lower lip, as if she herself was struggling to refrain from saying something.
It was the fair-haired man holding Éponine's hand who spoke first. "Would you like something to drink?"
Azelma looked at him. "I – I don't have much money," she said, with a shrug. "It's fine." In truth, she was thirsty and starving, and her body betrayed her, her stomach letting out a dissatisfied growl that they all heard. She felt her cheeks flush warm and looked down at her hold-all once more.
"That's not a problem," someone else spoke, the man who had kindly given up his seat. "I'll get you something," he added, with another smile, and then turned towards the counter before she could protest.
"Thank you, Courfeyrac," Éponine said, sitting back in her seat. "When was the last time you ate, Azelma?"
"Oh, um." She jiggled her knee. "I've not really had much time for it."
Éponine let out a little hiss of breath, but didn't say anything. They all sat in a fairly uncomfortable silence until the man – Courfeyrac – returned, with a mug of tea on a tray, along with a huge heap of sugars and sweeteners in little sachets. "I didn't know how you take your tea," he said. "I've also ordered you some soup. Tomato. If you don't like it, then I'm sure..."
"That's fine," she interrupted, a little embarrassed. Courfeyrac set the tray down on the coffee table, and she edged forward in her seat, leaning over her hold-all to tip three of the sachets of sugar into her tea. When she picked up the spoon to stir it, her hands shook. "Thank you," she said, picking up the mug and blowing onto the surface before taking a tiny sip. Not enough milk, not enough sugar, and so hot it burned the surface of her tongue. She grimaced and put the mug back down onto the tray, and busied herself with adding another couple of sachets of sugar to the tea. The way she felt right now, she didn't really give a shit if anyone was judging her for how much sugar she put in her tea.
The waitress came by with her soup in a bowl and a crusty roll of bread on a little plate, a tiny rectangle of salted butter on the side along with a knife. The honest answer to Éponine's earlier question about food would have been she couldn't remember, and she was absolutely starving. She devoured the soup and the bread within minutes, not speaking and barely pausing for breath. She was just licking a smear of butter from her thumb when she realised that they were all still staring at her.
Éponine's eyes were narrowed. "What happened to your face?" she asked.
Azelma's hand twitched, wanting to touch the purple bruise around her left temple, blossoming over her cheekbone. "Dad," she said.
Éponine let out a hiss of breath. "Anyone else?"
"Rest were there," Azelma muttered.
"I'll kill them." Éponine sounded like she meant it, and Azelma felt the tears burning again.
"'Ponine," the bespectacled man said in a soft voice.
"Things got messy," Azelma said.
"Looks like it," Courfeyrac said. He looked kind.
"Thanks for the food," she muttered.
"It's nothing." He waved a hand, and winked. "Trust me, all of us were desperate to put a smile on your pretty face."
Éponine swatted at him. "Courfeyrac," she said, and it sounded almost like a swear word.
"Sorry, sorry," Courfeyrac said, holding up a placating hand. "Time and a place, yeah? I'm Courfeyrac."
"Hi." Azelma didn't really know how to take his comment, so she decided not to mention it.
"So what happened?" Éponine asked. She glanced around. "If you'd rather talk alone, then..."
"Yes," Azelma said, immediately. "I would."
She watched Éponine's hand flex around the bespectacled man's, and then her sister nodded. "Okay," she said. "You can come back to mine with me. It's not far, if you don't mind walking."
"That's fine," Azelma said.
OOO
Éponine's flat was thoroughly modern, all sharp angles and white walls; the sofas were the colour of coal and speckled with white, and they occupied most of the main room. The kitchenette looked a little worse for wear, and there were piles of DVDs, magazines and books everywhere, along with dirty pots and cups on the black coffee table. There was, rather oddly, selection of clays in various different bright colours wrapped up in cling film on top of an off-white mat caked in dried clay.
"What's that about?" Azelma asked, gesturing.
"Oh, I – I have a shop now," Éponine said, shutting the door behind them. "Sit down. Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee?"
"Tea is fine." Azelma processed the words I have a shop now. "What kind of shop?"
"Just – a shop," Éponine said. "No big deal – I make jewellery. I, uh, I run it with Cosette."
"Cosette. Right. Was she there today?"
"No, she was out," Éponine said. "She's – a friend."
Azelma sank onto the sofa. They were very comfortable, and quite large, with no decorative cushions to impede Azelma's leaning back on the sofa. She left her hold-all on the floor this time, and linked her fingers together over her lap.
She could hear the sounds of a kettle boiling and a clink of metal against china as Éponine prepared the tea. A few minutes later, and Éponine came into view, carrying two steaming mugs of tea.
Azelma took hers, grateful to have something to hold before she tore all the skin off her thumb. She cradled the mug against her stomach.
"So," Éponine said, briskly, sitting beside her and curling her legs beneath her. "First things first – are you in immediate danger?"
Azelma shook her head. "No."
Éponine visibly relaxed a little, her shoulders sinking downwards. "That's good. So, what happened?"
"You happened." Azelma tapped her thumb against the side of the mug, the heat from the boiling tea stinging her skin when she left it on too long. "After I – well, when Montparnasse and I came here and told everyone that Claquesous had you, things...Went south."
"I can believe that," Éponine said. "But that was months go."
"Yes, well." Azelma chewed on her lower lip. "I had to avoid him for a while, both of us did, and then...Then things just seemed to get worse and worse, Éponine. I couldn't do right for doing wrong, but he was always trying – always trying to get me to prove myself, but nothing was ever good enough. And then..." She sucked in a deep breath. "He started asking me to do things."
"What sort of things?" Éponine leaned towards her coffee table and put her mug on its edge, nudging a pile of DVDs off the surface and onto the floor to make room for her mug.
Azelma looked down at her cup of tea. "He – he wanted me to...Well, you know. For money, and stuff."
Éponine pressed a hand over her face. "I am going to kill him," she said.
"I refused," Azelma said. "I didn't do any of it. But you can only refuse so many times, you know? He really – he really pushed for it. He wouldn't let up. And then he started getting Montparnasse to try and persuade me, and Brujon, and...It was constant. Then..."
She paused, and raised her mug to her mouth. The tea was so hot she couldn't really taste it, and it burned her mouth, but she didn't care. She swallowed, and swiped the back of her other hand over her mouth.
"You don't have to tell me," Éponine said.
"Sorry, I probably made that part sound worse than it was," Azelma said, apologetically. "I meant – then there was an argument, between me and Dad, and...And things got nasty. He..." She gestured to the bruise on her face. "There are more bruises on my stomach and back."
Éponine let out a little hissing noise. "That's when you left?"
"I managed to get out. Like literally, I got to my feet and ran. I'd been staying with Brujon, so I went straight there. Brujon came back, and – and he said Dad was done with me. That if Dad saw me ever again, he'd kill me. Said that I couldn't stay with him anymore. So. Here I am." She let out a chuckle that sounded false to her own ears. "God, it's a mess."
"You did the right thing," Éponine said. "You're out now. As long as you don't go near them again..."
"I don't plan on it," Azelma said. "I have no reason to, not anymore. I liked Brujon, but I couldn't stand Montparnasse, and Brujon wasn't a good enough friend...It's not much of a loss, you know?"
"I do know," Éponine said.
"I – I know things haven't been good between us," Azelma said. "Like, I haven't been very nice to you. And we haven't gotten along in years. I should have listened to you, I know that now, but – but you're my sister, and the whole problem between me and them is because I didn't like how they were treating you, and...It really upset me, thinking that you might get..." She swallowed.
"Thank you for telling them," Éponine said. "I never really got the chance to say it, but, thanks for telling them that I was in danger. You probably saved my life."
"Well, yeah. You're my sister." Azelma bit her lip. "I – I need somewhere to stay."
Éponine's own teeth sank into her lower lip now. "Right."
"Like I said, I was living with Brujon. I've been living out of this bag for months, now," Azelma continued. "And I don't have a job, or anything, but I can get one. I just – I just need somewhere to stay, just till I find my feet. Please, Éponine."
Éponine stopped chewing on her lower lip. "I don't have a lot of room," she hedged. "You'd have to stay on the sofa. I think...I think I've got some blankets – I don't have a spare duvet. But one of my friends might be able to rustle something up – Combeferre probably would. I mean, it won't be ideal, but...Yes. You can stay, for a little bit – till you find your feet, as you said."
Azelma put down her mug of tea on top of a magazine and hugged Éponine. At first, her sister was unresponsive, as stiff as a board, but after a few moments she softened and wrapped her arms around Azelma.
"Thank you," Azelma murmured into Éponine's hair.
"It's okay," Éponine said, voice soft and gentle, like Azelma had never heard it before. "It's all going to be okay, I promise."
OOO
Later, once she had finished her tea, Éponine directed Azelma into the bathroom for a shower. Éponine's shower was better than Brujon's, and she kept the water as hot as she could possibly stand it. By the time she climbed out, her skin was bright pink all over and hot to the touch. She dried herself in one of the large purple towels that Éponine had provided for her and unzipped her hold-all to pull out a change of clothes. She slid on clean underwear, the same bra she had been wearing, and then put on some plain grey sweatpants and a dark red vest top. She wrapped her dark hair up in a towel and shoved her dirty clothes back into the hold-all, zipping it up once more.
She paused in front of the mirror above the sink. She swiped her hand over the heavy condensation, water dripping off her palm. Her reflection was somewhat distorted by the drops of water still glistening on the surface of the mirror, but she could see the ugly bruise on her face, bleeding into the soft, clean pink of the rest of her skin.
She gripped the sink with her hands, tight enough that the skin on her knuckles turned yellowy white. The porcelain was cool beneath her hands. For a few moments, she felt like crying, and her stomach churned. She lowered her eyes from her reflection and closed them, taking deep breaths to regain her composure.
After that, she swung her hold-all over her shoulder and left the bathroom into Éponine's bedroom. Éponine's bedroom was just as messy as her living room, with clothes flung all over the floor and the bed unmade and the curtains still drawn over the window, faint light filtering through the gaps hear and there.
She could hear voices now, from beyond the bedroom; Éponine, and a couple of male voices she barely recognised.
"...I couldn't turn her away," she heard Éponine say as she opened the bedroom door.
Éponine stood close to the bespectacled man, who had a worried expression on his face, and behind them hovered a tall, thin man with long blond hair pulled into a ponytail. She vaguely remembered him being there at the café, although he hadn't spoken at all and had seemed the least interested in her presence. He had a very pretty face, she thought to herself, and then eyed up the rest of him – clothes looked nice – the jeans fitted him well, and the white shirt he wore too, and it all looked well-made to her.
"Azelma, hi," Éponine said, turning around. "This is my boyfriend, Combeferre," she said, reaching out to take the bespectacled man by the hand. "And this is his – our friend, Enjolras."
"Hello, Azelma," Combeferre said politely. He held out his hand, as if she might come over and shake it, but she didn't move towards him. After a heartbeat, he dropped his hand. "Are you feeling a bit better now?"
"Yes, thanks," Azelma said, trying to keep her voice from sounding as crisp as it did.
"Éponine left her phone at the café," Enjolras spoke up. He had a nice voice, too – smooth, clear, authoritative. "We came over to give it back."
"More like snoop," Éponine said, rolling her eyes, but there was affection in her tone. "What are you up to now, then?"
"Courfeyrac wants to do a marathon night," Combeferre said. "Indiana Jones, although there's some debate about the fourth one. We'll probably end up watching it, it's the only one Joly's seen all the way through. Will you be joining us?"
Éponine glanced over her shoulder at Azelma. "Thanks, but we'll stay in tonight," she said.
"You can go, if you want to," Azelma said, taking a step forwards.
"It's fine," Éponine said. "I thought we could get a take away and catch up, if you wanted?"
"Oh," Azelma said. She hadn't really thought about what would happen beyond her shower. "That sounds fine," she said.
"Well, okay," Combeferre said. "But if you change your mind..."
"We know where you are," Éponine said. She rose onto her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to Combeferre's. The kiss lasted longer than Azelma initially anticipated and she had to look away. She looked past them, at Enjolras, who also looked awkward and was staring at the ceiling.
Eventually the couple broke apart. Enjolras cleared his throat.
"Shall we get going?" he said, sounding a tad impatient. Azelma knew how he felt.
"Yeah, sorry," Combeferre said, sounding a tad bewildered.
They said their goodbyes (there was another kiss involved), and then the two men left.
"Sorry about that," Éponine said.
"It's fine." Azelma sat on the sofa. "Combeferre seems nice..."
OOO
It was just after midnight when the sisters decided to call it a night; they had eaten their take away and did watch a film. They had tried to catch up, but the conversation had been a little bit stilted at points and Azelma hadn't really known what to say to her.
"Just let me get some blankets," Éponine said. "I'll put the heating on as well, just in case it'll be cold tonight..."
Éponine disappeared into her bedroom and returned with two tangled blankets, one dark grey and one in plaid, pale pink, green and cream, and she had a pillow tucked under one arm.
"I'm sorry it's not much," Éponine said, dropping the pillow onto the sofa and handing Azelma the blankets.
"It's fine, I appreciate it," Azelma murmured. One of the blankets, the grey one, was very soft and fleecy to the touch, whilst the lighter one was rough and scratchy, itchy over her arms.
Éponine backed away from the sofa, hooking her thumbs into the back of her jeans. She pursed her lips. "Well," she said.
"Goodnight," Azelma said.
"Yeah," Éponine said, with a nod. "Goodnight."
Éponine nodded, took a few steps backward before turning around and disappearing into her bedroom once more; the door shut behind her with a soft click, and Azelma was left alone.
With a sigh, she adjusted the pillow against the arm of the sofa and then got up to switch off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Some pale light filtered in through the kitchen window, and some yellow light showed through the gap between the floor and Éponine's bedroom door. Azelma lay back on the sofa and pulled the softer grey blanket over herself, before putting the itchy one over the top as well. She tucked the grey blanket beneath her feet, and let out another little sigh.
She could hear Éponine moving around in her room, the rustle of bed sheets and then a clicking sound. The strip of yellow light disappeared.
Azelma rolled over, pillowing her head on her hands. Her body was tired, and yet, her mind was racing – memories of yelling and screaming and a fist colliding with the side of her head. She closed her eyes, and prayed that things would look better in the morning.
A/N: So this is the sequel or spin-off to Snakes and Ladders, and as it says in the summary, it will be Azelma/Feuilly. The main bulk of the story has been planned out but the ending just needs sorting out. Also, I just wanted to say that my characterisation of Azelma will become more apparent in the next few chapters – she's quite quiet in this one, for obvious reasons, but my Azelma is actually quite an aggressive character and that will become more obvious as the story goes on.