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Chapter Text

June 7th, 1832

Javert stares up at the stars, their constant vigil overhead having once provided guiding comfort. The night has fallen quite now that the student revolution has ended. He dares not to think what became of those radicalized children. They were delinquents who needed their spirits crushed, but less bloodshed would have been preferred. It was no surprise that they'd chosen violence rather than petitioning a legislative body like a civilized person.

Dragging his gaze away from the sentinels he had so admired, his eyes meet the dark waters of the Seine. Running his leather clad hands over the faithful stone barrier, he hauls himself up onto the bridge's rail. It was only proper that he fall, disgraced, under the shining lights of the stars he'd so admired. Not long before the barricades had been erected, he had vowed that he would never rest until 24601 was safe behind bars. Instead, he'd been the one leashed like a dog. He could still feel the rope that had been placed around his neck by rioting children. He could feel those piercing eyes as he'd been dragged into an alley by the beast he was supposed to bring to justice.

Javert moves his feet closer towards the edge while directing his gaze back towards the heavens. The gates to paradise were now and forever locked to him. He'd faltered in his pursuit of justice. He'd let his convicts act of saving his own life cloud his duty to the law. In cutting the ropes and allowing him life, Jean Valean had damned his very soul.

The entirety of Paris seemed to hold its breath, the night air deathly quiet as he surrendered himself. With a prayer to God above as the holy bells of Notre Dame chime through the night, he tips himself forward towards the fires of Hell. With his arms spread like brown wings, Javert falls in disgrace like Lucifer himself.

Despite inflicting this fate on himself, Javert still finds himself caught off guard by the currents of water pulling him under like vengeful spirits. Like one vengeful spirit, for strength like this was matched only by one. The further he sinks towards his final resting place, the warmer the water seems to become as he's pulled further towards a painfully familiar heat. As if by some animal instinct, he starts attempting to claw towards the surface. The more he struggles to try and learn how to swim in his final hour, the more the Seine River begins to resemble Toulon, the more the water wraps around him like shackles. He was being dragged down, his penance secured in an eternal chain gang of sinners. He starts to imagine 24601 beside him, rather than a memory to look down on. The futility of his struggle, however, is made evident by the burning in his throat and lungs as though sulfer had been poured into them.

Before his head fully submerged, he could have sworn he'd heard his name called. Who would be calling for him? Who would even notice his absence? He had no family, no friends, not even a colleague to mourn his loss on this earth. In the inky nothingness of the river, ghosts of the past swam before his eyes with only one constant on this journey into Hell. The only person among the living who would feel his absence would be the one to reap the benefits as an unpursued man.

The many faces of a single man swirl obsessively while a strong current wraps around him. As he submits to the darkness, he could almost fool himself into believing he was wrapped in someone's arms. His body is jerked sideways with such force that any chance of it being a person trying to save him is erased. Only the weighted manacles of his watery prison could be pulling him anywhere. The only person with the kind of strength that could free him would never dare try and save Javert.

At least, not twice.

Chapter Text

Slowly, as if he were a member of the chain gang, Javert dragged his eyes open. The first beam of light causes him to flinch and raise his arm in an attempt to shield himself. The movement awakens a deeper, more searing agony running like a raging inferno through his muscles and directly into his soul. This all encompassing hopelessness felt so familiar. Turning his attention away from the horribly jarring welcome to the afterlife, the scent of sweat sent him into a coughing fit. Dry heaves wrack his body and suffocate his lungs. Perhaps this is what true sulfur smells like?

The creaking of a door sends a shiver up Javert's spine as his entire body snapped to attention. A cell door is opening, the grind of iron and rust ingrained into his being from the day he was born up until shortly after 1815 when he was promoted to Inspector. Fully alert when at attention, he becomes sinkingly aware that he's inside the cell, that he is the prisoner. The figure backing into the room must be his demonic warden.

When the figure turns, his suspicions are confirmed. He was being tormented for the greatest failure in his career. Prisoner 24601 stood at the door to his cell, now the officer holding his fate. The beast dressed as a man held a tray, rather than a bullwhip. This didn't matter, Javert jerked forward slightly, his back stinging as if new scars were already replacing the decades old ones.

Under the watchful gaze of these piercing dark eyes, Javert was no longer a 52 year old accomplished Police Inspector. No longer was he Javert, the intimidating 34 year old officer ordering this man to not forget his name. Confined to this bed, Javert was just a tainted child born to criminals. He'd always known that his parentage had condemned him to be lesser than the honest folk. His eternal soul had been shaped from sinners.

Javert dares not to move as Valjean approaches, when feeling this weak and inferior it seems unwise to provoke such prodigious strength. Even so, as the tray he's carrying is set down and the loaf of bread is within eyesight, a scoff is torn from his throat.

"Bread? How predictable, 24601. If I asked where you got this, should I worry if it will make me an accomplice to a crime?"

As the biting remark passes his lips, he feels the burn of a whip cutting open his flesh once more. His whole body jerks forward as calloused hands aggravate the wounds. Javert tries in vain to escape the hands grabbing him, his skin feeling burned off by a chafing rope. Each movement made his skin feel ready to peel off. Despite his struggle, Jean le Cric's corded arms continue pinning him in place.

"Unhand me, you filthy dog! I am an officer of the law! You have no rights! Release me before I double your sentence!" The words burned in his throat more intensely than the irons used for branding prisoners. He was speaking out of turn, he wasn't sure if he was speaking as a prisoner or an officer anymore. Javert couldn't tell which side of the chains he belonged to.

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Valjean climbed the stairs to his bedroom carrying a tray of water, bread and bandages. It was his hope that after spending almost a full day asleep, that the inspector would wake for longer than a few moments. It wasn't until he'd seen Javert on the bridge that he'd understood how much his life had been shaped by the others' presence.

As he backs into the room, the sound of rustling fabric settles relief in his heart. With a sigh that could be mistaken as fondness, a smile steals across his face at the other man watching him. Only just now is he struck by how much younger he is. He'd become distinctly familiar with Javert's smaller stature when peeling the ever present greatcoat off the half dead frame. Still, their stories had been intertwined for more than half of Javert's life.

Even as cruel words spew from the inspectors lips, the smile doesn't fade from his face. The vitriol he spat seemed like a good sign that the bitter man was recovering. What concerned him was the agonized look in Javert's eyes as he suddenly surged out of bed.

Valjean set the tray aside, knocking over one of the silver candlesticks in his haste. Electing to ignore its fall from grace in favor of kneeling at the other man's side, he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. Valjean uses the sitting position to check the injuries on his companion's back. Despite the thick wool of police issued outerwear, the coat had done little to protect from the Seine's sharp stones.

Forced to go back and forth between the tray and bedside, Valjean does the best he can to clean Javert's wounds. The river had not been kind to its visitor, leaving nasty jagged tears in the flesh among older wounds. Something inside Valjean recognizes the faint scars, but he isn't sure why. Noticing how on edge his patient is, he tries to be as gentle as possible while wrapping fresh bandages around the Iithe frame. Still, the inspector had always been a jungle cat, coiled and ready to pounce. His suspicions were only further confirmed by being lashed out at from even the slightest hustle.

He'd never once wished to come to blows against the officer. It had happened in the past, but never without an attempt to talk. At least on his part. Javert was more stubborn than a mule, especially where the law was concerned. Even when trying to heal the man, Jean Valjean was forced to play the villain role for the wellbeing of another. Twice in so many days, where the inspector was concerned.

Valjean panics when Javert begins thrashing. Out of instinct, he grabs the slender wrists and pins them to the younger man's sides. Chest to chest, he uses his superior height to pin the officer to the bed. This wasn't a course of action he took lightly, always hesitant to use his strength against another person, but he feared that Javert would hurt himself again while combating the demons of his mind. He felt heat radiating from every bit of exposed skin pressed against him, burning through his own layers of clothes.

Cursing his own stupidity, he reflects the events that found Javert in his bed to begin with. The river may not have been frigid, but he'd hesitate to call it warm. By the time he reached the barricade, Javert had already been through the gambit and his dive would have aggravated his injuries. Considering his unconscious state, Valjean has to carry Javerts soaking wet, lifeless frame miles to Rue Plumet without risking being seen. Normally, doing so would not have taken terribly long. However, his pace had been slowed by the exhaustion from pulling Javert from the river after already carrying his daughter's suitor from the barricade to the hospital.

Shaking his head, Valjean exits his bedroom while praying to a merciful God that Javert will stay put long enough for him to retrieve what he needs. The fever ravaging the inspector needed to be brought down as quickly as possible. Jean listens for even the slightest noise with criminal ease as he gathers a bowl of cool water and proper cloth. Returning back up the stairs, he finds himself relieved that Cossette was staying at Marius's side. He hadn't the faintest idea how he would explain this to his daughter without revealing his past to her.

Upon returning, he pulls the lone desk chair to Javert's bedside and settles himself. Setting the bowl aside, he rolls up his shirtsleeves and prays for Javert's health. His prayer holds the same desperate devotion he had when begging God for Marius's life, offering up his own in exchange. Opening his eyes, he looks back at the man who believed himself to be Valjeans enemy, he studies the flushed complexion while steadying his racing heart. Before picking up the water, Jean first picks up the candlestick that had bought his righteous path and sets it back upright.

Taking the bowl in hand Jean dips the rag in its crystal surface, he laments not having something more gentle to the touch. Dabbing the cool cloth to Javert's scalding brow, he reflects on the man before him. He'd never once blamed Javert due his actions. This man was only doing his job, and only ever tried to make the world safer. Valjean held no hatred in his heart for the inspector. Worry, however, was something he was brimming with. What could drive such a proud man to that decision? As he shifts forward in his seat and freshens the cloth he vows to remain vigil until at least, they see each other plain.

Chapter Text

June 10th

Javert gasps, as the shackles around his wrist burned into his skin, the metal causing his wrists to blister as it turns ice cold. As they shatter, the fragments burn across his skin as they fall. His dark eyes follow the shards as they fall away, and the world along with it. 

Javert blinks rapidly and feels as though he had awoken in another life. He turns around and observes nothing, the space around him vast in its emptiness. His body was stabbed by the icy fractals of frigid wind. The inspector is left to walk blindly through the vacant expense while his body shivers uncontrollably. As he follows along the cobblestone pathway, not even his footsteps registers while wandering the blinding emptiness. The path was his only clue to his fate until the faintest sound of a town registers in his ears. 

After a few more steps Javert feels snow beneath his feet, the soft crunch a reassuring sound. Looking around, his eyes fall downward upon a shining pair of leather boots nestled half buried among the soft fresh snow. Montreal sur Mer bustles before him, and it was a disorienting sight. As he moves forward carefully and attempts to assess his situation, the phantoms do not seem to notice him. Their eyes pierce straight though the inspector as if he were the ghost rather than themselves. Perhaps he was.

Javert's piercing gaze examines each shop, and he feels a tug in the back of his mind. Something was calling to him, drawing him in another direction. This was a summons he couldn't ignore. Monsieur Madeleine was crossing the street towards his small factory, and his Chief of Police couldn't resist the urge to follow him. Within moments he joined the Mayor along his path, the gentleman's presence overwhelming. 

It wasn't long before the inspector matched his stride with the silver haired public official. Within seconds he had realized there was no report to make. He's not even sure how he traveled a decade back to this town. The warmth in his chest dissipated as quickly as it formed and the cold sinks back into Javert's bones. He wraps his arms around himself and becomes painfully aware of his missing greatcoat, the wind lashing at his face as the cold nipped his exposed skin. With each passing second, frostbite feels more inevitable. All at once, the inspector feels stripped bare, completely unprofessional in front of Monsieur le Maire.

Javert turns towards Madeleine, an apology right on the tip of his tongue, but the words die in his throat. The man's kind features and soft blue eyes were replaced with the dirt covered skin of a hardened criminal. The inspector's whole body becomes stiff as the memories begin to consume him. He had spent days, weeks and months trailing behind the mayor through hell and high water. There was a point where Javert had admired the man. He would have done vabsolutely anything to court the mayor's favor.  The very idea that those feelings had turned sour made his heart sink. 

Javert's feelings towards the gray haired man had always crossed the line, it was unprofessional. If he was truly honest, he'd admit those feelings had crossed into sinful. The first day he had entered Madeleine's office, the man had presented him with a rosary. That was the day his temptation started, in the darkest hours of the night when he would entertain the briefest fantasies. Every one of the man's actions exuded warmth and a pure heart. There was a weakness, a heart so kind it could be called naive. Javert had been honored, proud even,  to be the head inspector for such a law abiding man. 

Javert follows alongside the mayor and every second leads to more confusion. His head was spinning as he tried to put the pieces together. The saintly Madeleine and the angry, hardened beast of a criminal clash together within his mind. The war inside his heart was even more devastating. 

Valjean's two personas war against each other, sending his mind spiraling. Javert shakes his head and looks up, they had reached the factory before he had realized it. Madeleine, like the others in town,  hadn't noticed him. They continue into the factory as the Inspector feels something warm against his cheek. Javert turns quickly, his eyes wide as he takes in his trusty mount Gymont. It seemed the clever horse was the only one who could see him and he smiled, his hand stretching out so he could brush his fingers over the steed's nose. He couldn't help but wonder what became of his companion. His faithful steed had stood at the other end of the bridge. His friend's dark eyes staring into his soul as he jumped. 

Javert is startled by the very thought of his friend and before he knew it, he was falling again. His body plummets backwards into the river below him once more. The Inspector looks up, his heart pounding as his mind wanders to Valjean. He had heard about what happened to the man and he couldn't help but wonder. Is this how he felt?

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Jean removed his hand from Javert's brow, every part of his being tensed from concern over the young inspector. He's not sure if the fever is getting better or worse, but the burning heat is persistent under his touch. His hand lingers just a moment against the warm brow, the most relaxed he had ever seen it despite the circumstances. Sitting back in the chair Valjean rubs his hand over his face, not needing a looking glass to see the dark circles under his eyes. The convict isn't sure of the last time he slept. Once this wouldn't have bothered him, but he wasn't as young as when he first broke parole. Time blurred and while caring for Javert he didn't know if it had been hours or days since the barricades.

Looking down at the broken officer on his bed, he feels his heart break seeing the handprints wrapping around the Inspector's dark wrists. When trying to restrain the man, it was becoming clear that his strength had escaped him and dealt further injury. Rather than protecting the man from further self harm, it seemed that once again the ghost of Prisoner 24601 reared his beastlike head to seek revenge against its former jailer.

Jean tears his vigilant gaze away from the flushed olive skin and looks towards the candlesticks,whispering yet another prayer to God above. Javert laying so vulnerable and broken devastated the older man at the very core of his being. For almost 30 years, Javert had been the only unshakeable pillar in his life. This man had been a tenacious predator, relentlessly pursuing his prey in their game of cat and mouse. Being hunted by the Inspector had almost become a comfort, a sign that he was washed. Even if it was just back in prison.

As a prisoner in the galleys, 24601 had never once seen the young guards stray from the letter of the law. In truth, he'd never seen the other man with so much as a hair out of place. While Valjean struggled to wake at the crack of dawn for a new day of back breaking labor Javert stood above him with his uniform polished and pressed. He always wondered what the upstart had to prove. Still, Javert had become his favorite guard simply for his fairness. Other guards took joy in doling out punishments. Even with his numerous escape attempts and the growing number of scars upon his skin, the young guards were never cruel. The young man now fighting for his life in his enemy's bed, had never once abused his power over prisoner 24601 in their 19 years in Toulon. For this reason, he respected the man who hunted him and bore those scars with understanding rather than the shame he held for his past.

With another exhausted sigh, the ex convict rises from his chair and moves towards the door. He glances briefly towards the shivering figure and walks back, pulling a quilt over the unconscious form.

"Please Javert. I need you to wake up soon. I don't care if it ends with me in cuffs. Throw me back in prison. I'll go with you willingly if only you would please, just wake up." Valjean begs before hanging his head , brushing his fingers lightly through the short hair. He's startled by how soft they are even after all they'd been through.

Jerking back like he was burned, his heart pounds in his throat as he hurries from the room and down the stairs. He was crossing a line by touching. Jean knew this, it was a dangerous line into temptation made even more inappropriate by the circumstances. Once steadied on the ground floor, he distracts himself by gathering water. Breathing heavily while holding the pitcher, Jean heads back towards the stairs trying to steady his heart rate as his gaze falls on the drying clothes by the fire. Without much thought, Javert's greatcoat finds itself draped over his arm and heading back to the room with him. Feeling the weight of the outerwear, Jean le Cric finds himself admiring the Inspectors strength to wear such a coat everyday without his duties being hindered. Pushing the door, a knot in his chest released from seeing the shape beneath his aged quilt was breathing evenly and no longer quivering from the fever.

Resettling himself at Javert's bedside, Valjean sets the pitcher on the table. Opening a drawer and pulling out a simple sewing kit, Jean adjusts the battred coat over his lap and sets to work. With extreme care, he sets about mending the man's trusty coat, wanting something familiar to comfort the distressed younger man. He doesn't notice the time passing, focused only on closing the various tears in the wool and its owners' staggered breathing. Adjusting the garment, a soft clattering echoes in an otherwise silent room. Looking down, the ghost of Monsieur Madeleine is resurrected at the sight of an aged rosary laying at his feet.

With a shaking hand, he hunches over and picks up the delicate beads with calloused fingers. Running his thumb over the scuffed orbs, he's shocked that his Chief officer held onto the trinket all these years. While the younger man had been seen with the rosary over their shared tenure in Montreal, he'd expected the trinket to have been discarded upon his arrest. Letting his mind wander, he continues to hold onto the beaded strand while remembering his fondness for the inspector before him.

Six years, for six whole years Javert and a hidden Valjean had worked together. They had balanced each other like two hands of God guiding the city into prosperity. Like two silver candlesticks lighting a room, the inspector was cold justice tempered by the mayor's warm mercy. The pair had often been found in each other's company having spirited debates, sometimes over an evening meal. They had become nearly inseparable until the incident with Fantine. Despite neither man disclosing a shred of their pasts, Jean was certain Javert would agree that they had been the others only friend in the world.

Valjean would admit only to himself that he'd desired more than the occasional brush of hands. He wanted to see the inspector's smile directed towards him every day, rather than only when he'd find him in the stables with Gymont. He'd also never dared express this desire towards the younger man, he could not. Madeleine was a facade, he would never dare confess the possibility of love towards another person wearing a name or face other than his own. Even more, he would never tell anyone that when he acted as their superior. Especially if that person valued serving a superior over their own health or happiness like Inspector Javert.

After running from Javert in Arras, he'd never dreamed that they'd occupy the same room as each other. He's terrified of what's going to happen when the inspector wakes, of what the other might do when leaving. Jean wishes he could believe that this dive into the river was a one time thing. He hopes that they could rekindle the friendship they once held, but saving the man's life is the least he could do.

A soft moan of pain drags the convict from his maudlin thoughts, relieved to see dark brown eyes staring up at the ceiling. Even unfocused, this seemed like a step towards recovery. He takes an olive toned hand and wraps it around the rosary, only to freeze as his musings reminded him of something. He needed to find out what happened to Gymont. That horse was the only form of family Valjean knew his companion to have and he didn't need to risk any reasons for Javert to head right back to the river when he finished recovering.

Chapter Text

June 11th

In a churning whirlpool, the inspector falls backwards being dragged by the mysterious force.  A scream of agony tears from his throat as he lands in a hard wooden chair. Shades of his past colleagues float around the prefecture, aimless in their tasks and unaware of the change in their superior. Javert holds his head in a distressed, soundless cry unsure why he's found himself spiraling through time. Before, he had found a connecting thread of Valjean in these vignettes of his career. The reason why he'd suddenly appeared at work rather than faced with his nemesis for a third time leaves him at a loss.

Ducking his head, Javert runs his fingers through his hair and pulls at it. He shivers in discomfort, the locks longer than he preferred to keep them. The sudden change in length confused him, despite not knowing when in time he was. He couldn't recall a time in his adulthood where he'd allowed his hair to grow out. If it ever started to reach his neck, it served as a reminder to make an appointment with a barber to promptly remedy the issue. He would never allow himself to look less than perfectly groomed in uniform.

Choosing the distraction of his work, rather than continuing to agonize over his presence here and the growing disheveled nature of his superscript, he opens his eyes. The steely gaze of a tired professional falls upon the disorganized stack of papers. Lifting the forms with an exasperated sigh, his gaze skims across all different manners of reports.

After what seems like hours, Javert feels a pounding in his head. The olive skinned man is unclear if being forced to read for hours, or if these strange events were the source of the throbbing in his head. Rising from his chair, he staggers from an unknown weakness in his legs, grabbing the edge of his desk to steady himself. The Inspector looks around alarmed as an arm is around him, steadying him further as he steps out from behind the wooden frame. Turning, his gaze meets the concerned of one Officer Rivette.

"Inspector? Are you quite well? I'm sure you're quite shaken knowing a man you hunted so long is dead. Perhaps you should go home and rest. You've earned a break sir. ."

Javert wants to argue, he'd never gone home sick from work and doing so felt like a failure. Rivettes words stuck in his mind though, the connecting thread of his previous encounters and now. This was the day he'd learned of 24601's supposed death. The one that was truly an escape, but the inspector had never been more relieved for a captive to escape containment. The inspector's life had felt empty without Valjean filling the roll of mouse in their little game.

Walking home sends his mind spiraling as he crosses the bridge that would guide the the weary man to his boarding house. Without even realizing, Javert's stride falters as though his feet have become one with the street. He keeps trying to step forward, wanting to continue somewhere to rest and attempt to understand the purpose of him being there. Instead of moving forward off the bridge, he's dragged to the side and stares down at a turbulent vortex.

Something about the water held the keen eyed inspector transfixed, memories rippling across the waves. He leaned over the barricade as long forgotten images churn through the murky depths. Instead of the crashing waves, a more unexpected sound pierces the otherwise silent darkness.

Javert's brow furrows as he leans over the rail, almost bent at the middle as he stains to hear an unexpectedly familiar voice. A voice blogging too someone who, in this memory, he'd just been told was quite dead.

"Javert. Javert please, by God, wake up. I don't care if you strike me, or even arrest me. Please, with all of God's strength, please just open your eyes and know you are safe."

The young inspector is so startled by the voice of Jean Valjean he found himself pitching over the side of the bridge in a terrifying, yet achingly familiar decent. The murky water wraps around him, but this time it is like a warm quilt. The further he sinks into the depths, the warmer Javert finds himself he begins to struggle before succumbing to the welcoming embrace of his inevitable conclusion. There is no purpose in life for Inspector Javert without Jean Valjean.

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Valjean stands at the modest desk in his bedroom, having been compelled to his feet by the thought of Gymont. The words flow onto the page with more ease than expected considering the nature of his request, even more considering he's a convict writing to an officer of the law. Still, as the aging man turns to look at the delirious brunette he sets the drying missive back on the wood and crosses the few steps back to the bedside.

The weighted greatcoat has fallen to the ground in a puddle of gray. Taking a knee at the bedside, he picks up the coat with an almost gentle touch and holds it in both hands before draping it over the lithe body in his bed. The normally alert gaze has a jarring vacancy, but there's still a new awareness in the surprisingly soft gaze.

"I shall return shortly, Javert."

Jean wasn't certain if the man could hear him quite yet. Still, if he could, it was better to try reassure the bed bound figure of his intentions when coming and going.

Returning to his desk, he folds the letter and exits. Descending the stairs with purpose, each step the former prisoner takes enforces the ache in his bones. Still, he reaches the door and steps out into night, heading towards the gate in search of a willing street urchin to carry his missive.

A group of children are running down the cobblestone when Valjean unlocks the gate.

"You there, children!" He cried, attracting the attention of the small group.

The rag tag band stopped and then, upon recognition, swarmed the man once known as the beggar who gives alms.

With coins in hand, he instructs the urchins to pass his letter to Officer Rivette. The man had seemed reasonable during his arrest, and also appeared to respect the delirious Inspector.

Watching the small forms disappear down the street, Valjean turns and retreats back into his house and up the steep stairs.

Upon opening the door, the criminal is faced with a familiar glowering expression. The hard gaze causes a surprising amount of relief, despite the implications of Javert waking.

"It's good to see you awake Inspector." Valjean says calmly, despite his inner turmoil.

"What kind of mockery is this 24601? Am I your hostage now? Do you plan to blackmail me?"

A tired sigh escapes the elder man as he walks more fully into the room. With very little effort, he presses on Javert's shoulder causing the ritious individual to fall back into the bed.

"This is the most lucid you've been since I brought you here. Please save the threats of arrest for after your fever is fully broken, and I'm certain your job is still safe."

Jean presses the back of his right hand to the heated, olive skin. The greying man tries to shove the calloused hand away, but he moves them away with his left hand as gently as he can.

"Unhand me you filthy devil, was it not enough to have me in your debt once? To have stolen my life and purpose from me? Now you must also steal my death! As I always said, once a thief, always a theif."

The white haired man looks down at the younger with a tired determination. Removing his hand from the angry inspectors, he helps the man sit back up, flinching as he sees the bruises on the slender wrists. Ignoring the angry protests, a glass of water is pressed into the long fingers with some bread as well.

"Believe whatever you must about me, but I will not let the most honorable person I've ever known throw his life away. Not when I know God isn't done with him yet. It's not right to see your life cut short when the likes of Thernardier still breathes."

A small smile crosses Jean's lips as a deep scowl crosses the officers. The sour look is first directed at the bread, probably from the irony of who offered it. The expression grows darker as the mention of the disgusting criminals that seemed just as intwined in their lives as each other.

"You may have saved me from hell for now, but it matters not. My life is meaningless without my job, which I resigned from. It would have been irresponsible to let the Prefecture expect me for work when I would not be returning."

Ever diligent, his former subordinate. Valjean had expected this. While intelligent and a prodigy in his work, to someone who'd known the young man as long as he, Javert was predictable.

"I've sent a letter to Officer Rivette, asking him to remove any letters you'd left for your superior officer and asked it be brought here along with Gymont. Really Javert, when I pulled you from that river it was too prevent you from throwing your life away. I intend to make sure you don't do that. Letting you resign from your work would be counter productive. Please eat and rest. You can threaten me with prison when you're feeling better."

With a slight chuckle at the stunned expression, the convict exits his bedroom. Heading to the kitchen to wash up privately now that the ghost of his past was awake, Jean finally feels the weight of his choice. By saving Javert, he'd chosen to let his past remain a shadow to pursue him. The risk he'd taken, the danger this could pose to Cosettes future felt like a growing weight on his shoulders, heavier with each breath they both take

Chapter Text

June 12th

Javert wakes again the next morning, temporarily blinded by the sunlight streaming in through the window. The ache surging through his body becomes more obvious, a scream stifled when he bites his cheek. Graciously, his sleep had been uneventful unlike the last few evenings. The only image plaguing him was in the waking world as the hulking form of Valjean watched him intently from the corner.

“Am I not allowed the dignity of even sleeping in privacy?” His voice is hoarse, even when sitting up.

Valjean is at his side in an instant, pressing a water glass into those slender fingers once more and aiding him to drink. The exhausted officer seems to be a mixture of wariness and anger. Half-heartedly his olive hand tries to push the glass away, refusing to accept anything from the bane of his existence. As he tires and reluctantly begins to sip, Javert feels the burn in his throat soothed by the very thing that nearly took his life days earlier. After taking several tentative sips the smaller man eventually leans his head back against the wall while the tall man sets the glass aside, and perches on the edge of the bed.

“Javert, I genuinely do not wish you harm. I am not attempting to blackmail you, or to humiliate you.There is no alternate agenda.” Jean stares into those icy blue eyes feeling immense sadness.

The convict's promise holds such conviction that it is impossible for the exhausted Inspector to doubt him. Despite knowing that he can trust Jean Valjean, even though every fiber of his being protests, he finds himself becoming more inclined to listen. Shoving down the desire to hurl insults and accusations, The younger man attempts to force himself to his feet. the white haired Saint of a sinner was blurring too many lines.

Once out of the bed, Javert takes a step and then another. On the third step he feels his body give out before feeling strong arms catching him. The dark haired officer is placed back in the bed and tucked in. The Inspector lays there a bit delirious, barely able to fight Valjean while his legs refuse to function.

As Javert stares at the ceiling, hating the weakness in his limbs, he wonders if this is his punishment. Rather than be sentenced to Hell, God has decreed he pay penance in his humiliation. Nothing could cause the proud Inspector more shame than having his life in the hands of Jean Valjean. Despite the emptiness he felt believing the man dead years prior, nor the begrudging respect found in the barricades, he could not accept the kindness.

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Valjean watches as Javert falls back onto the bed when he lets go. He lingers over the man before deciding to trust that the sensible Inspector will refrain from hurting himself further. The older man decides that fetching breakfast would be best to allow the younger man space, while also acknowledging that they both need sustenance. After all, his old shadow hadn't properly eaten in days and was concerningly beginning to resemble an actual shade.

The aging man had never found himself to be much of a cook, but he could manage the basics. One of the luxuries of wealth had been the mercy of a housekeeper to provide for himself and Cossette. As he brings a pot to boil for simple porridge, his thoughts drift to his daughter. The days had been merciful in not needing to provide explanation for the Inspectors presence, her away tending to the younger Pontmercy. Still, as if summoned from a dream, his treasure enters the house looking radiant as always.

"Oh, Papa, I have the most wonderful news! Marius is recovering even better than the doctors had predicted. It's a miracle."

Jean is lost in his daughter's glittering smile, his concerns leaving him momentarily.

"That news is wonderful, my child. I'm certain it must be your heavenly presence at this side. An angel sent to nurse him." He leaves the pot to kiss her forehead, happy to have her near and safe.

Cossette seems flustered by his compliments, a modest child due to her upbringing at the nuns school. Still, he knows that she has fire within her. This will serve her well when marrying into aristocracy. Valjean is glad that he spared enough wealth to provide her a generous dowry; his daughter will start her life as her husband's equal.

Oh, Papa. I cannot linger long. I'm meeting some of Marius's family for tea and then to prepare wedding plans. I simply wanted to check in on you and to invite you around for supper this evening." Cosette stands on her toes to press a tender kiss to his disheveled cheek.

He agrees softly while watching her flit up the stairs. A whispered prayer above pleads for Javert's silence. He doesn't wish to explain the inspectors' presence, and inevitably their history. Valjean has spent his entire life protecting her from his sordid past as a member of the chain gang.

Returning to stir his pot, he also sets out a loaf with some berry compote to add to the morning options. As the officer's former employer, he almost finds himself ashamed at the realization he's unsure how the man takes his tea. It's only the birdsong of his Cosette's voice that draws him from the maudlin thoughts. She's holding a bag over her shoulder, likely containing some dresses for the next day or so.

"Are you certain your alright on your own Papa? I can always take a carriage back in the evenings if you wish it."

Her delicate hands are gripping his before he even noticed she'd crossed the room. Cossette had always been such a thoughtful girl. She finds room in her heart for even the smallest of creatures. If she knew the beast that played at the man she called father, he knows he'd be cast out of the warm light of her heart. He could not bear to see her love for him broken.

"I don't mind in the slightest, my dear girl. The Colonel has been most enamored by your presence, and it's only good to endear your new family to you." Leaning down, he presses a soft kiss to the top of her golden head. "I'm certain Marius will find this way too health faster under your devoted care. I'll see you at supper."

Watching Cosette leave causes his heart to mourn her absence, but also a deep relief at not needing to conceal Javert. Jean distracts himself with soft humming, while resuming preparation of the breakfast tray for his unwilling guest. Still exhausted from his vigil over the angry man, he loses himself in the task. It's a new experience, not being so hyper aware of his surroundings. Still, he allows himself to become lax since the one man out to arrest him lays upstairs in his bed. Dishing out the bowls of porridge, a knock at the door draws the white haired man from the trappings of his mind. Opening the door, he finds Officer Rivette on his front step with a magnificent black steed behind him and is glad to have made extra porridge.