Chapter Text
He wonders whether Javert will give a good description. Somehow, sickeningly, he knows that he will, that once back in familiar surroundings Javert will slide into his punctilious groove again. Javert has no gift for lies. But he reflects at least that Javert will not mention Cosette. Of this he is fairly certain.
They must get out of Montfermeil, he thinks. Before the streets are overrun with police. He remembers Javert's look, as good as begging them. And they still have the money, at least. He hastens along with Cosette.
"Where are we going?" Cosette says. "We must wait for him."
"He wants us to go," Valjean says.
"He promised," Cosette says.
"Cosette," Valjean says, kneeling and tying on her bonnet. "I do not think we have seen the last of him. But you must come now. He has done a brave thing for us."
Cosette frowns. "He did not say goodbye," she says. "And he will not know where to find us."
Valjean feels a curious twist between the pride that she is so clever and the knowledge that she has the right of him. He meets her eyes.
"Cosette," he says, "you are right, but it will not be safe for us to stay here long."
Cosette looks uncertain.
"Please, Cosette," he says. "Come, now."
But it is hard to drag her after him through the snow. Cosette dawdles. They trickle slowly through the streets. It is too late for carriages.
At last they stumble into a church and he settles Cosette in a pew. Cosette's dolls are very reticent this evening.
They say their prayers together. "I miss him," Cosette says.
"So do I," Valjean admits. He strokes her hair.
Finally she settles in his coat and he watches her sleep. He wonders if Javert was serious when he suggested Valjean find a village and let her call him Papa. It would be so easy. But he is always chary of things that he wants so much. He tries to pray. He has too many things to say to Javert and none of them are proper to say to God.
He thinks of the strange sound of Javert laughing. He thinks of Javert's eyes on him. Javert's handkerchief is still in his pocket and he touches it curiously. He has been alone for so long, he thinks. As a convict alone at the bottom of the heap. As mayor alone at the top of the heap. But what did it signify? Alone was alone.
At least there is Cosette. And God. He always travels with God. But he cannot suppress the thought that he would prefer to have Javert.
Outside the window it begins to snow. Then the snow turns to sleet. It is like watching an ugly woman cry.
--
In the morning Valjean goes out to hire a carriage. He returns and tries to pick up Cosette but she dawdles behind him. She is forever dropping things and looking behind her. "Cosette," Valjean says. "Please."
"Valjean," says a voice behind him. He half turns before he realizes his mistake. He half wishes Javert had stuck to 24601. He is too used to hearing the name now. This is not a slip he meant to make.
Then Thenardier is standing at his elbow.
"I understand now," Thenardier says. The alley thickens and comes to life with menacing figures, like sediment stirred up from the bottom of a dirty mug. "I see what's going on. I see now. Him in town pursuing Jean Valjean. You in town to steal the girl from me. Mere coincidence. Mere coincidence, you on the road together. Mere coincidence, him following you. Vouching for you. But who would he follow here but Jean Valjean?"
Cosette looks frightened. He wishes he had another lifetime and no soul to consider. He would like to kill Thenardier for making her wear that face.
"Get away from me," Valjean says. He does not turn. He kneels and looks at Cosette. "Cosette if this goes badly I want you to go to your hiding place and wait, all right?"
Cosette nods silently. Valjean wonders if this whole time they have shared will have been only another miserable incident in her life's long string of miserable incidents. He prays God not.
"What do you want, Thenardier?" he says, not turning.
"All of it," Thenardier says. The menacing crowd draws in closer. "And the girl."
"I can give you more money," Valjean says. "But Cosette belongs with me."
"One scream," Thenardier says. "One scream and the police'll come, and I'll tell 'em who you are."
"I am not frightened of you, sir," Valjean says, turning slowly, shielding Cosette. " Let us have no unpleasantness."
"You have nothing to bargain with," Thenardier says. "You are a dead man already." Two of the men sidle up and seize hold of Valjean's arms. Valjean flings one off. The other will not go so easily.
"Run, Cosette," Valjean says. Cosette does, unhesitatingly. He watches her small figure dwindle in the snow.
He tries to fight. It goes in his favor, at first. He is strong. He is angry. He has not been so angry since Toulon. But there are so many of them. They cluster on him. He is like a bear set upon by baiting dogs. They tug at him and seek to topple him. They tear at his coat. He sheds it on the snow and flails about him.
It is a noisy fight, at least. Windows open onto the alley.
As one of Thenardier's thugs lays hold of his purse, someone shouts for the police.
Several officers come running up. "What's this?" one says, beardless and too big for his jacket. "A fight in the street?"
"They tried to rob me," Valjean says. One officer manages to wrest his purse back from Thenardier's henchman's grip.
"This is the man!" Thenardier shrills. "This is the convict! You're looking for him? I caught him!"
Another officer approaches inquisitively and studies Valjean, and Valjean can tell that Javert's description was accurate enough. The man seizes his wrist, glances at the marks there, and gives a sharp nod. He shoves Valjean to his knees and Valjean does not bother to resist. He is tired. There is blood on his lip.
"Inspector Javert," the first officer calls, and a strange hope flickers somewhere deep inside Valjean. "We have your man!"
Valjean glances up as Javert approaches. It is a strange relief to have Javert in view again. Their eyes meet. It is so unlike those years when Javert's eyes on him were only hard and reflected him without seeing him. Now he can see his relief mirrored in them. Relief and – there is a flicker of concern, he thinks, that Javert does not mean him to see. He is not sure what Javert will do. He hopes he knows.
"This is your convict," the officer says.
"Thank you," Javert says, with a curt nod. "Yes, this is the man."
"Clap him in irons!" Thenardier crows. "Or won't you?"
Javert does. He uses precisely the amount of force required. He is not gentler than he needs to be. He seems to be trying quite hard not to be. There is an exaggerated precision to all his movements.
"Get up," he says, "You are not badly hurt." Valjean thinks there is a question buried in the assertion. He stands. Javert holds him by the cuffed hands. They are dancing the same dance that duty has always demanded of them, but it feels different. Javert's grasp on his wrist is firm and unyielding and – it is exactly the way that Javert would have grasped him before, to the letter. But Javert must try now to achieve the old effect. Something strange sparks between them even at this rough touch.
"You are in luck, Thenardier," the young officer says to Thenardier. "Be off with you."
"Merely my civic duty," Thenardier says, doffing.
"I suspect your civic spirit will wane quickly," Javert says, voicing Valjean's thought. The officer glances at him in agreement.
"I'll escort this gentleman home and thank him for staying out of trouble," another officer says. "You will go to the precinct?"
"I will take care of him," Javert says, measuredly. Valjean feels a minute tremor in Javert's grasp and realizes what Javert is doing. "Thank your commanding officer for me."
"We will need to process his belongings," the officer says.
"Give them to me," Javert mutters. "I will see to it."
The officers do. They bow and depart.
Javert watches them go. He and Valjean stare at each other. They both relax at his departure and Valjean sees the uncomfortable spasm in Javert when the inspector notices that he was holding his breath. He presses Javert's hand. Javert opens his mouth and then shuts it, and Valjean has the strange feeling that he was about to ask whether he was all right.
"I am all right," Valjean says.
"I did not inquire," Javert says, and Valjean knows he was right. "Where is Cosette?"
"The usual place," Valjean says. "I hope."
They walk together. Javert looks every inch the policeman. He is terrifyingly punctilious. He pushes Valjean along, holding his cuffed wrists at the small of his back. There is about him the kind of minute precision of detail that only an actor uses. Valjean thinks that Javert notices this exaggeration in himself and that it makes him more uncomfortable. It had not been a mask before.
"Thank you," he says.
"You are too foolhardy," Javert murmurs. "You trust me too much." They walk along an alley and he feels Javert's hand on his arm, wary. Valjean wonders if it is a sensible precaution or – He tries not to lean into the touch.
They turn an alley towards Cosette's hiding place and then Javert goes stiff. Valjean looks.
It is the chief of police.
"I hear you have caught your man," the officer calls.
Javert freezes.
"Perhaps he will not recognize me," Valjean says. He looks down. He does not know whom he is trying to reassure.
Javert is silent and he does not like this silence.
"You did what was right, Javert," he says. "I hope you believe it."
In answer Javert reaches behind him and unlocks the handcuffs.
"Inspector!" the officer calls. Javert pretends not to hear him. "So you have him."
"Yes," Javert says. "I thank you. I must make haste."
Then the officer draws nearer and Valjean knows the game is up.
"He is your convict?" the officer asks, and Javert freezes. Of course Javert would freeze. Valjean scans the street. They are alone.
"Inspector," the officer says, and his tone is curious. "This, if I am not mistaken, is the man whom you vouched earlier—"
"You are mistaken," Javert says.
The chief of police frowns. Valjean can feel Javert squirm. He is not used to lying. It is the wrong size for him. The officer can see him squirming. His brow clouds.
"I have a confession," Valjean says. "I compelled him. I held a knife on him. If he gave me up at once I would have killed him and the girl. I compelled him not to give me up."
"Be silent," Javert says, "you fool."
Valjean looks at him and Javert looks as though he is on the verge of resigning his commission on the spot and asking to be punished, and Valjean thinks, no, he must not do that, if Javert does so he cannot escape punishment, and Javert in irons will be no good to Cosette.
"Sir," the officer says, and his tone permits no discussion, "we will go to the precinct with your convict and inquire further into this matter."
Javert's cheeks burn. He says nothing. He looks at Valjean and then up at Cosette and then down an alleyway and Valjean can see that he is contemplating running. But there is no chance for them with so many policemen about. Of course Javert would not think of that. He is too accustomed to being a policeman himself. If the alarm goes up they will be caught and Cosette –
No.
When the officer steps closer to lay hands on him Valjean sees his chance. He rears up and strikes the officer. It is a precise blow. The man falls flat on his back in the snow and lies still.
"Come, Cosette," Valjean calls. Cosette's eyes are frightened.
Javert looks aghast at him.
"You would not have done it," Valjean says.
"No," Javert says. "I pray you have not killed him."
"So do I," Valjean says. He glances down. "I have not. But for your sake it might be better if I had." Instantly he wishes he had not given the thought voice.
"Do not pretend you did this for me," Javert says.
Valjean looks at him and Javert looks away. "Come, Cosette," Valjean calls. "It is all right now."
Cosette looks a bit frightened. When she climbs down she clings to Javert's leg. Valjean realizes his hand is still cuffed. "Father?" she says. "Is everything all right?"
Javert crouches next to her. "No," he says.
"Come, Cosette," Valjean tries again. But Cosette will not come. She clings to Javert and will not go without him.
"For God's sake," Valjean murmurs. "Will you come? We are running out of time."
Javert does not look at him as he gathers her in his arms. He says nothing. But he follows.
--
They ride in silence, always listening for hoofbeats behind them.
"I could have explained," Javert says.
"Don't be a fool," Valjean says.
"I am done for," Javert says. "I am disgraced. Twenty years – pfft. Gone. Vanished like smoke."
"I am a dangerous man," Valjean says. "What I said could have been true."
"Look at me," Javert says. "Do you think for a second that I would have – lied – because a man like you threatened me?"
"I was trying to offer you a way out."
"So you struck him? You struck down an officer of the law?"
"You were not taking it," Valjean says. "I thought you were about to turn yourself in. You have a tendency to do that."
Javert does not appreciate the remark.
"And for Cosette's sake I could not have that," Valjean finishes.
"I committed an infraction," Javert says. "I hindered an investigation. Woe unto him by whom the offense cometh."
Silence falls between them. Valjean realizes that he is unaccustomed to silence with Javert now.
"Why did you do it?"
"I could not let Thenardier take her from you," Javert says. "I wish you had not struck him. Why did you strike him?"
"We could not have made it if they had raised an alarm," Valjean says. "Neither of us, Javert. I did not do it lightly. "
Javert frowns.
"If you had given yourself up she would have had to go back there," Valjean says. "Or worse."
"It is a dereliction of duty."
Valjean extends his hands in supplication. "Javert."
"I assisted your escape knowingly, Valjean," Javert says. Each word is dragged from him. Valjean wonders if this is how Javert behaves in the confessional. "The least you could have done was escape."
"I tried."
Javert curses softly. "I know," he says.
Javert sits brooding for the rest of the ride and Valjean watches him nervously. Cosette nods off, comforted by the presence of both of them, and they sit in silence.
"I am grateful," Valjean says. "You showed her great mercy."
"She has done no wrong," Javert says. He stares out the window. "But do not pretend that that was my only reason." Valjean looks at him. Javert keeps his eyes fixed on the window. "We may be bound for the galley alike," Javert says. "Let us be so honest with one another at least as to admit it."
"Admit what?" Valjean asks.
Javert looks at him. The look unfurls warmly along the bottom of his stomach. They do not look away this time. "Why don't you tell me?" Javert asks.
There is a sound behind them. Javert glances back through the window, nervous. For the first time Valjean can see how easy it would be for Javert to slink back to the gutter. The sly back-glance is a criminal mannerism. He is built right for it. All the same, he thinks, it looks wrong on Javert. He would not be the cause of this failure in him. "Javert," Valjean says, quietly, wishing his voice did not curl around the syllables like that. "I am frightened of the things I want to ask you."
Javert looks down. "I will do what is left of my duty," Javert says finally, gloomily. "We will find her a home, finish this task of yours, and then I will surrender both of us to justice."
"You have done no wrong," Valjean says.
Javert "hmphs." The "hmph" is the most cheerful noise he has made all afternoon. "You always seek excuses."
Valjean extends his hand to Javert and Javert takes it. It is the only comfort they permit themselves in each other.
--
At last the hoofbeats sound behind them, as they expected. It is almost a relief to hear them, to know themselves pursued. Valjean scans the road ahead. There is a bend in it and an obscuring wood that concludes in a fork in the road. He leans forward and tells the coachman to slow once they round the bend and proceed as fast as he can down the right fork that leads away from Paris.
He glances at Javert. Javert nods. "It is not a bad plan," Javert says. "But I suspect the man will not do it for nothing."
As usual Javert is right. It costs them. As they slow at the bend he gathers Cosette in his arms and Javert opens the door and the three of them manage to jump out. The carriage barrels off rapidly into the distance. They sit nervous in the dark watching the horsemen fly after it. Valjean recites the Twenty-Third psalm under his breath. He thinks he sees Javert's lips move in the darkness.
A few hours of stumbling in darkness down the other road bring them to an inn. When they settle there Javert does not bother to guard him at all. Valjean puts Cosette to bed and goes to look for him. He finds Javert praying. Wordlessly he goes and kneels beside him. They pray together in silence. If Javert minds he does not say.
"Thank you," Valjean says.
"Do not thank me," Javert says.
"She is forgiven," Valjean says, "for she loved much."
Javert gives him that strange once-over again. "You are naïve enough to believe so, Valjean. Perhaps your God is more merciful than mine." He glances down. "I'd be in irons now if you had not— done what you did."
"I did not do it to buy your loyalty," Valjean says.
"You did not need to," Javert says. Their eyes meet.
"You owe me nothing," Valjean says.
"I owe you my freedom." Javert glances at his wrist.
"Not like that," Valjean says. "If you stay with us I hope it is because you choose."
Javert nods. He does not look at him. "They will discover our ruse. We must get off the road soon."
Valjean nods. "The three of us will make an easy target," he says. "You in your uniform and I and the girl—we are not ordinary travelers."
Javert scowls. "You would be surprised. I have snuck places in my time."
"All the same it might be better if we were less easy to recognize."
"How?" Javert asks.
"It is easy not to be recognized," Valjean says. He reaches over and strokes Javert's whiskers inquisitively. The touch is meant to be merely appraising. It is not. He withdraws the hand.
Javert shrugs. "If you think it best, I can be rid of them," he says.
"Let me," Valjean says.
Javert looks at him. "You will slit my throat," he says. But he sits obediently when Valjean fetches his razor and the pitcher, towel and shaving soap from the washstand.
"If you do not trust me," Valjean says, "I think this is ill-advised of you."
Javert looks at him. "Do not tell me that," Javert mutters, "or I will change my mind, Jean."
Something strange starts flickering in his chest when Javert says it. He knows what Javert means by it: they are both on the run now, they are gazing eye-to-eye from now on, there will be no more "24601." He knows what Javert means. But it is the way he says it.
Their eyes snap together. Valjean kneels before him. "Hold still," he says. Javert regards him steadily. He remembers the last time he touched the Inspector's face. The memory of it still lingers in his fingertips. He thinks Javert remembers as well. He cannot look away now; they are too close for that.
Valjean lathers his face in silence.
"Why?" Javert asks.
"Hold still," Valjean says. It is unnerving to be so close to Javert. But his hand does not tremble. He tilts Javert's face upwards to expose his throat and Javert lets him. "There were no mirrors here," he says, making the first swipe of the razor up Javert's neck. The inspector stiffens. "Hold still," Valjean says.
"Stop telling me to hold still," Javert says.
He finishes Javert's neck, wiping the razor on the towel, and makes the first swipe along his left cheek. "It seemed simpler." The exposed patch of skin makes the Inspector's face look strangely naked.
"You are a terrible liar," Javert murmurs.
"Hold still," Valjean says, rubbing inquisitively at the smooth patch of exposed skin with his thumb.
"Don't do that," Javert snaps. He can feel Javert's pulse beating below his fingertips as he tilts his head to the side. It is going as rapidly as his own. He is astounded that the Inspector permits this. Javert's pulse is very rapid and his eyes are very wide and dark; the pupils have devoured the irises, and the strangeness of the whole situation prickles along his arm.
Valjean finishes the left side and wipes the razor on the towel and runs his thumb appraisingly along the exposed skin of Javert's cheek and Javert's breath catches.
"Stop that," Javert says. Their eyes meet and Valjean removes the thumb; he can see in Javert's eyes the same thought that swam unbidden into his own mind: this is how I might touch him if I were about to kiss him, this is how he might look at me if he were going to let me, this is the thing we have not spoken of.
"I only wanted to be certain," Valjean says. His throat has gone dry.
"Your fingers are rough," Javert mutters. The inspector is trying not to look at him; this is all too strangely personal, it is impossible to forget that it is Javert in his hands, he suspects it is worse for Javert, miles worse, to sit like this under the hands of a former convict. The effort not to look puts his head at a strange angle.
"Look at me or shut your eyes," Valjean says, capturing Javert's chin in his fingers and beginning on the right side. He swipes along the right cheek, hair and foam coming off in equal measure, and he feels Javert's eyes on him. The steady rasp of the razor is the only noise in the room.
"Valjean," Javert murmurs, as he wipes the razor, "what are we doing?"
Valjean says nothing, finishes the right side, carefully. Valjean's fingers smooth along the line of his jaw and Valjean swipes once or twice more at stubborn patches. Javert gazes curiously at him.
"Well?" he says.
Valjean looks at him. It is strange to see Javert like this – not unrecognizable, but enough to startle at a first glance. The guilty question curls along his stomach – would anyone who had not been looking at him as you do spot the change? – but he tamps the thought away. It is stranger still to think, I did this to him and he let me, this new face he wears is my doing. He wonders how much his expression gives away.
"You are my only mirror," Javert says, running his hand nervously over his chin. "And I cannot read your face."
Valjean studies his handiwork. Their eyes meet. "You will serve," he says. He wishes his voice did not sound like that when he says it. There is a spot of foam beneath Javert's ear and he wipes it with his thumb. Javert's breath hitches. It is too like a caress.
"You look -- younger," Valjean says.
"I feel old as Methuselah," Javert says. "I will frighten the girl."
"If you did not frighten her before you will certainly not do so now," Valjean says, and Javert's eyes flicker up to him as though to say that Javert noticed the compliment.
They are still too close. "Of course you would say that," Javert murmurs, running his hand along his cheek again, "it is your handiwork."
"I like you clean-shaven," Valjean says.
"I know," Javert says. "I can see that, Valjean."
Javert runs his fingers along his chin again as though he is tracing the ghost of a caress. Valjean has the sudden urge to follow the fingers with his lips.
"You are frightened, you said," Javert says, softly. "Of me?"
"Of myself," Valjean mutters. "Of this." His hand finds Javert's and he lets his thumb stroke the inside of Javert's wrist. He did not know the Inspector's eyes could kindle like that. "I am frightened I would ask too much. I would want you to stay."
Then Javert tenses. They both hear the sound at the same time. Hoofbeats. Too many of them. They spring apart
"Get Cosette," Javert says.
"I did not think they would come so soon."
Javert nods, getting up. "Paris is not so far," he says. "There is a chance, if we go on foot--"
"Then let us go," Valjean says.