Enjolras was right.

The next day brings rain pelting to the deck in thick sheets, and skies that remind her of ashen Parisian streets.

Standing up above, Éponine scratches ragged nails across her face, cheekbone to jaw, and flicks out the dirt that gathers under them. The action makes her look striped with the contrast of dirt and marginally clean skin, until she does it again, and again, until what is left looks pink and nearly raw.

Normally, she'd shake her hair loose and scrub at her scalp and the ends of her hair until it would no longer fall thick and greasy against her skin, but even without this, she feels cleaner than she has in a while.

She enjoys the warm droplets, actually.

Acting as lookout – even if there is too much wind to safely ascend to the crow's nest – suits her just fine.

Until a hand on her shoulder has her turning to look into the face of Graintaire.

"I," he articulates, "have a headache, and do not want to be up here." Understandable, given how much she saw him drink the night before. Her gaze is impassive, and the question is clear: 'What does this have to do with me?'

He grins, and answers what is unspoken. "This has everything to do with you, Jondrette. Because, instead, I am going to teach you to pull your weight around here. Come on." He steps away from the bow, only turning back when he notices her hesitate. "Do you really think we're going to sneak up on anybody in this weather?"
What she thinks is that she doesn't know how any of this works, but she is also curious.

He speaks up anyway. "The answer to that is no. Come on," he repeats. ('Was that what had been distracting him before?' she wonders idly as she steps away. 'Whether or not the storm would get in the way of intercepting the other ship?')

Even with the hatch closed, the steps are slick with rain, and she nearly slips as she follows him down.

The crates and boxes have been pushed to the sides, some stacked atop another and looking as though looking as they will topple at any moment, in order to clear away a space in the middle.

"Does – the captain know you're doing this?" she asks as she descends.

He tosses a look over his shoulder, reaching for something leaning against a wall, just out of her vision. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Though she does doubt that, somewhat, seeing as he is now in possession of two swords.

Her tosses her one, and her fingers scrabble along the edge, nearly nicking herself trying to find purchase. "There's supposed to be another raid soon. Merchant ship. Best to know what to do." He fixes her with a smirk. "Though in all likelihood, you'll end up sitting this one out. Now, the key to learning how to sword fight is... balance."

She scrunches up her face and gives him a dirty look – what would he know about balance? – and begins to inspect hers. The blade is broader than she expected, and her hand fits easily around the curved handle. It's simple, and doesn't look like much, but –

Here, her line of thinking is cut off as Grantaire kicks at her right foot.

"Never step with your feet close to each other," he instructs as she stumbles. "Shoulder width apart." She scowls at him, but does as instructed. She can feel his amusement even without seeing it.

"Keep your breathing even. And hold out your sword. Like this." He demonstrates, and she follows after, receiving a nod. "Slide your feet when you can, and lift when you can't. Go."

Cautiously, Éponine takes a few steps, slowly so as not to wobble. It's strange to get used to such a manner of walking, but after a few tries, she thinks she's got the hang of it.

This is confirmed when Grantaire nods again. "Good. Keep your elbows bent in close. Try and match me."

He lifts his own and advances. She circles, as does he, and her lack of skill grows increasingly obvious, as does his possession of such skill.

She blocks the first with relative ease, but the second comes when she twists her wrist at an awkward angle, and the third taps her wrist as she fumbles.

He scoffs. "I'm not even trying to hit you, Jondrette."

She scowls, and redoubles her efforts.

But it's harder than it looks.

Grantaire's strikes are light at first, and then more forcefully. Never hard, but enough that her arm aches with every blow that she blocks.

Éponine is no weakling, though she has admittedly had little opportunity to develop real muscle in her emaciated state, a fact which has only begun to change in the amount of months she could count on one hand.

Even so, trying to keep her breathing steady, her footwork natural and even, her hand raised unfalteringly, begins to take its toll. And this does not go without notice.

"Stop."

She pauses, one foot half-raised.

"Take a moment to refocus." She presses her mouth together in a silent question. "We'll start again when you have."

She is hesitant, but he steps back, looking suddenly uninterested, and so she lowers her sword to its earlier position.

She closes her eyes and draws in a steady breath.

She focuses on the position of her feet and of the angle of her arm until the tremors subside, and there is nothing but her breathing, but this steadiness – and, suddenly, the flat of a blade smacking against her hand.

She yelps and jerks back, narrowly managing to avoid dropping the sword. When she recovers, Grantaire graces her with a lazy grin. "Remember not to be so relaxed you forget your surroundings," he reminds, smile wicked, and she starts to form a retort when he continues. "And try not to be so jumpy, mademoiselle."

Her heart stutters and her toes clench in her boots. He knows? He knows? She keeps her face as neutral as possible as she studies his, heart rate increasing by the second.

After a moment, she lets off, and lets her grip relax.

No. He does not know. The remark was designed to be a jibe, nothing more.

"Try again," he instructs, taking his place opposite her.

Still, she's jittery enough that his next few strikes hit low enough on the sword that her knuckles go white.

Training is cut short by a shout. "Grantaire! Captain wants to see you!"

"Tell him I'm busy!" He calls up with a half-smile, perhaps aware of her dual incredulity and amusement at the idea of telling the captain anything so informal.
"He will not believe the deck needs any more swabbing in this rain!" roars Bahorel from above, which sends Grantaire and Éponine into heaving fits of laughter.

Graintaire gives her a mock bow. "Well then, I believe that will have to be the extent of your first lesson. Mustn't keep him waiting." And with that, he is off, whistling merrily. She thinks that this would infuriate the captain terribly, and then she thinks this must be the point.

By the end of it, she may not have full-mastery of the art, or have met his goals for her, but she has certainly mastered her goal – studying him.

He acts as he speaks – brashly, and with a bit of a swagger. His steps are a little wide, and he projects confidence to the point where scoring a hit against him might leave him more defenseless than normally.

If she can pretend not to have noticed this through enough lessons (and of course she can), she might be able to trounce him through improvement and the use of this knowledge.

And then she frowns, and shakes her head at herself. She's looking forward to another lesson? She's letting herself go soft.


A/N: Hey, guess who took the time to actually map out the main points of the next few chapters with sections specifically for the Enjonine scenes in each up to the thirteenth? (Spoilers: this gal!) You know what that means, beyond the fact that I will no longer have to spend half the day just trying to come up with the basis for the chapter? Actual plot. Which existed before, but more fluidly, whereas this chapter has several plot-relevant bits. (Points if you can spot the plot relevant-scene inside the plot-relevant scene.)
I think I might have to put 'Grantaire/Éponine friendship' in the summary, with how much I'm including him. I regret nothing. And, actually, I really like this chapter. …go me.