Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a busy month. Now the beginning of July, Javert solemnly walked the cobbled streets of Paris to his old flat. He had spent the previous weeks since being rescued from the Seine recovering in the Fauchelevent residence. He learned about himself, among many other things, during his recovery.

Carrying this newfound purpose and love on his shoulders, he slowly opened the door to the residential building. The landlady wasn’t sitting in her usual seat in the corner of the stairwell, encouraging a sigh from Javert. He walked up the steps, finally standing before his old apartment door. The familiar rusting handle grated against his rough fingertips as he opened the door.

He carefully stepped inside his old residence and was confused upon noticing the room was…different. His desk was riddled with papers and candles, his armchair was in a different position, and his kitchen was covered in used plates and bandages. The window was open, letting in a warm breeze from the streets of Paris. This last detail was the most confusing. How could the window be open if he had not been in his flat for so long?

There was a thud, and suddenly an air of discomfort filled the room.

“Who’s here?” He commanded. The sound of careful steps was heard across the room. Javert contained his urge to leap towards the intruder, and channeled his eagerness into the bite of his commands. “Answer me.”

Silence.

He turned towards the steps, slowly walking towards his old bed. The old wooden planks let out silent cries under his feet.

Suddenly, against the sunlight from the window, he saw a silhouette. A girl. Ragged hair, slim frame; young.

Like a frightened wild animal, she froze and turned to face him. He stopped in his step as recognition began to settle in his eyes.

The girl from the barricade.

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Éponine was in pain.

She was tired, she was terrified, but, most of all, she was in pain.

She had taken a shot for Marius, the scarlet evidence seeping through her shirt and hand. She didn't have time to re-evaluate her decisions, to say sorry, to tell Marius she loved him. Properly. She was thrown away, thought to be dead, and the violence halted not long after. Not that she would know how long exactly, of course. She was dead.

But to her surprise, she woke up. There was no bright light guiding her. No comforting warmth or peaceful fields. There was a second sign that she had not crossed: the agonizing pain in her hand and chest, forcing her to catch her breath. She looked up at her surroundings: a half-hearted attempt to distract herself. She was still at the Musain. She was still alive.

Biting her tongue, she forced herself up from the cold bricks, trying her best to ignore the horrible feeling in her chest and began to walk.

Where? That's anyone's guess. She considered going back to her family's flat, but she was already dead to them. She thought about them for a moment. How each would respond to her entrance. Her father and mother would be livid if not disappointed. Éponine was always so rebellious, foiling their sad attempts at crime. Azelma would be relieved, at most. And Gavroche, not that he was ever home but…

Shit.

Where was Gavroche? He had been with the others at the Barricade. She tried to turn around but the night was silent. He'd be safe with them, she thought. They were like the brothers he could never have, the sibling she tried to be. If he died, he would die loved at the side of the drunk or one the leaders, in a warm embrace he never received from his own mother.

She continued dragging herself across the bricks, trying her best to find her footing. She could consider the complex emotions she held later, her priority was safety. Her hair was out, keeping her appearance feminine to anyone who passed at this hour of night. She could say she was crossfire, but she didn't know how long she'd be able to hold the lie.

She kept walking, leaning against walls and pillars when the pain got too strong. Eventually, she found a residential building, marked by a chipped oak door and rusting address to the right. She considered skipping it, just like she had with the others, but reconsidered it. She glanced at the horizon. The sun would rise soon. Under the blanket of night she could hide her bleeding and tattered coat, but she didn't know how long she could disguise herself in broad daylight. So, without giving herself a chance for doubt, she opened the door.

It was a small entrance, walking straight into a dark stairwell. There was an unoccupied chair in the corner, one she assumed belonged to the owner of the building. Seeing no one she could talk to, she began to climb the stairs.

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“You.”

Éponine frantically backed into the shadows, evaluating different forms of escape. She could sprint out - the door was still wide open behind the Inspector. But she knew he was quick. She considered jumping out the window, but it was far too high to have any chance of safety. When she fell, how would she run? She settled on a quiet surrender. Her wounds were still dirty, her pain was still consuming her. A surrender would be mercy. Peace, at last. Peace that was stolen from her from the moment she rose from the dead.

Javert took a step forward, the creaking floorboards snapping her back to the present. With every step he took forward, she took one back until, at last, she felt the peeling wallpaper against her tattered blouse.

“There is nowhere to run, girl.”

Javert clenched his fists, reminding himself to keep peace. This was a foolish child, a reckless and innocent girl. He couldn't and wouldn't hurt her, even if she made a wreck of his refuge.

He stopped a few steps before her, analyzing the deep shadows looming over her face as the sun began to set. He noted how heavy her breaths became, the sound of anxious panting before him. “I won't…I do not intend to hurt you.”

“I don't believe you.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, releasing the tension in his shoulders in an attempt to appear less menacing, an attribute he was well aware of since his youth. He slowly turned towards his kitchen and gestured towards the used bandages and open medicinal cabinet. “You're hurt. I know how to treat you.”

“Let me go my own way.”

“Young lady, I don't think you unders-.” His tone was getting firmer now as he took a step forward, lifting his hand. He froze again when he heard her cut him off. “I understand that you are a police inspector, one who infiltrated the barricade where I happened to be. You are going to arrest me.” She paused for a moment, shifting her weight on her feet as if she were about to sprint. “I am no fool.”

Javert stood straight and began to take off his coat and hat. He pivoted towards the door and closed it before hanging his coat and hat on a coat-hanger in the corner. He then walked to the kitchen and began to clean the bandages off the counter and reorganize the cabinets.

Éponine watched him, perplexed. She knew this man had the intention of arrest, so why was he so relaxed? Manipulation was the only answer. He wanted her to feel safe so that she would surrender. At least, that's what she thought, until she saw him pull out a roll of clean bandages. He walked over to the bed, his bed, and set them there. He was now but a meter or so away from her, forcing her into a corner to keep a safe distance.

“You’re injured.”

She held her tongue. He was trying to lure her, and she wasn’t going to fall for it, but the reminder of her wound sent a pang in her abdomen. Javert grew more frustrated as the silence grew.

“You can’t run far with a gaping wound, child,” he announced with a grave tone.

Éponine sighed. He had a point. In a silent surrender, she walked to the bed, her back to him. She didn’t trust him with her abdomen, not yet, at least. She hesitantly removed the loose bandage, revealing the dried copper layer beneath it. Without looking at him, she stuck her hand out to the side.

Chapter Text

Javert tried not to wince seeing the crusted blood on her palm. Her skin was scarred, but it seemed she had been picking at it in places. The bullet hadn’t fully penetrated her hand; there was a growing circle of healing flesh in the center of her palm. Poor thing must have picked the bullet out herself, he came to realize.

He lifted his head slightly, turning to see her unchanged, bashful mien. He clutched a rag he had previously wet in his left hand and began to pat at the scabs softly. He heard a sharp breath from Éponine, confirming that at least she could still feel the wound. It would take a long while for it to heal, not that it mattered to him; she was going to be gone soon.

He began to wrap the cloth bandage around her cleansed hand, tenderly patting the back of her hand when he finished. There was a heaviness in the air, now. The bandaging had been so intimate and relaxed that she had almost forgotten who was tending to her. His plan, whatever it was, was working. She quickly pulled her hand back, but before she could stand up, she heard him say, “Does your family know?”

Her hands froze. Javert took that as an unfortunate yes.

“So you have nowhere to go?”

“You can’t make me stay.”

“You will die with no one to help you.”

He realized that he was doing to her what Valjean had done to him, forcing him to accept care and promising a release once Javert was healthy again. He remained with Valjean for one more week after the point at which he was considered ‘healthy’ because that’s what’s bound to happen when the saint who saves you from damnation offers you guidance. Not that he believed he was one to the girl, no. He knew that in a week’s time, maybe less, she’d be gone, back to the life of a street rat; alone, dirty, criminal.

He couldn’t stop himself from making the foolish promise.

“Young lady, I promise you that I will let you run off to the streets, but only after I see to it that you won’t bleed out.”

She took a deep breath. “Let me go.”

“You will die.”

“Why do you care?”

Why did he care? What was it about her that made him so determined to see her live? He knew Valjean had instilled within him a certain newfound empathy, but why would that extend to a foolish girl from the barricade?

It was within this thought process that a certain realization sat within Javert.

He knew this girl.