A Javert fan fiction by Bramblefox
This sort of came to being after reading a comment on how Javert is always burning his coat because he stands too close to fire, and someone theorized that he's always cold. Enjoy, and please review because I do like to get feedback.
EDIT: THIS THING IS A MONSTER!! It's grown far larger and different than I ever imagined it to be--HELP!!!
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I am cold.
Forever it seems that I am freezing to death on a stone prison floor. I am young, still a child with a child's thoughts in that ageless stone cell. Between shivering and the threat of tears I wonder vaguely where my mother has gone, or if she even exists anymore. The thought doesn't bring much consternation; she never seems to be around enough to miss anyway.
The winter wind screams through the window with icy fingers that grab at my thin rags and threaten to pluck my rough blanket from my skin. Snow collects in numbing powder on the floor, and I make my trembling way to the barred door. As I cling to the frosty metal I whisper to the guard, "Please…I'm so cold…so cold…"
The guard obligingly squeezes another blanket through the bars, watching with a mixture of pity and sadness as I pounce and wrap the thick material around my bony shoulders. "Poor kid," he mutters; the words curl in blue-white steam on his breath and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his government-issue overcoat. "Poor kid…"
The man's pity fade away in a ghostly sigh. The blanket is securely wrapped around my body, but the frozen floor leeches away any hope of warmth. I shudder uncontrollably and rock back and forth to a terrible mantra echoing in my icy brain, "Cold…so cold…so cold…"
As I huddle miserably an odd twitching, completely unlike the cold-induced shivering, runs through my legs. The oddness of it all escapes my serious attention until a second later, when a similar twitch and sprouting sensation assaults the base of my spine. I look down my back to see a fuzzy black tail; all thoughts of the chill vanish momentarily as I scramble to my feet.
Only…they aren't feet anymore. I look down to see shiny hooves attached to slender black legs covered in hair. In the next few moments my thin pants split at the seams and fall to the ground as my behind gets noticeably, disturbingly bigger. I nearly fall down but catch myself with an extra pair of legs. Within ten seconds of the first twitching sensation I stand on four legs with what seems to be the lower part of a horse attached at the waist.
As I look down with astonishment and something akin to terror the guard at the door gapes. Before I can plead for him to stay and help me he flees, racing in the general direction of the prison's office. I stay frozen to the floor, uncertain of how to use these new limbs without falling on my face. For a few moments, at least, the cell is quiet and regrettably cold. I begin shivering again with the chill and fear, gather up the discarded blanket, and wrap it around the part that is still human. In the silence the awful chant starts up where it left off: "Cold…so cold…"
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Javert awoke with a start, abruptly cutting off the muttered "So cold…so cold…" that escaped between his chattering teeth. All his blankets were kicked off to bunch at the foot of the bed, a testimony to his outward-induced nightmare.
Well, technically it wasn't a nightmare, Javert mused as he sat up to gather the twisted blankets. There had been a time as a child when he was always cold while living in the prison in which he was born. The thick stone walls retained a constant coolness even in the heat of summer, and winter with its lack of functional stoves was nearly unbearable.
An involuntary shiver ran through his body at the thought, and Javert clamped his jaw shut in annoyance. He didn't hate the cold for its physical discomfort--he could handle being uncomfortable. The real reason he hated the cold was the utter lack of control. Once he became too cold the shivering would start in a desperate attempt to warm up; teeth chattering so loudly he could hardly hear himself think and limbs shivering so hard he seemed to be having a fit of sorts. Whenever it struck, no matter how hard he tried or willed it, he simply could not control it.
But he had no idea where the centaur part came from--it was vivid enough to be counted as memory, but he was certain that it wasn't. It was probably taken from an idle thought that animals with their thick fur coats didn't feel the cold as intensely as people. Wishful thinking--animals suffered as much as people in winter.
Javert shook his head, dispelling the minor reminisce and focusing his attention on getting up and making the bed. As he moved through the familiar motions of his personal toilette the dream faded until he could successfully ignore it.
Before putting on his greatcoat he noted (again) the multiple burns along the tail and reminded himself to stop hovering over stoves. It seemed that the cold that assaulted him in dreams pushed him to seeking outward comfort in the form of heat. He pulled on the huge coat while shaking his head at his unconscious silliness, took another look at his orderly apartment, and exited the tenement building. The dream had died away, work was waiting, and he didn't think about it again.
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It was a fairly short walk from Javert's tenement, but it seemed longer due to the icy November weather. The air was clear, and by keeping to a brisk walk Javert managed to work up a light sweat by the time he entered the station; the thick, warm air within pushed its way through his thick coat until an unpleasant stifling sensation encouraged him to strip it off, revealing a neat dark blue uniform. After reporting to the officer on duty Javert made his way to a desk. As he sat a grinning red-headed officer spoke to him.
"Terribly sorry, Inspector, we've no use for your stalking abilities today. Instead, I've been given the order to present you with a nice stack of paperwork." As the young man spoke he plopped the aforementioned stack on Javert's desk and leaned forward against the desk.
Javert glanced at the papers and suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. "After telling me last week that all officers ranking above captain were required to stand outside for two hours while a fire report was investigated when in reality all the lesser-ranking officers had lost an irreplaceable file and were looking for it, what makes you think I ought to believe this is mine and not yours, Sergeant?"
The young man's grin grew wider. "Ah, that was a good one, wasn't it? No, I'm not pulling your leg this time. Ask Commissioner Benoit if you don't believe me." The last sentence encouraged a pathetic attempt to look hurt.
"If you lack something useful to do, Sergeant Prideux, I'm sure I can come up with something." Javert fixed the sergeant with a practiced glare.
"Oh no, I have plenty to do," Prideux said, abandoning the attempt to force his good-natured features into hurt. He stood up, stretched, and took his good old time getting back to his own desk.
Javert took the opportunity to succumb to the eye-rolling impulse. Sergeant Reginald Prideux was harmless enough as a person and loved to try and provoke Javert to anger. The younger man never succeeded past mild annoyance, but that didn't stop him from trying. Especially when he was trying to shove his workload off to other people. Javert looked back down at the papers with distaste but resigned himself to the mind-numbing process of filling them out.
Several tedious hours later, Javert rubbed his eyes in an attempt to uncross them; only three more sheets to go, and then he could escape in the form of patrolling. He never quite appreciated his active-duty unless he was trapped in a stifling room for a few hours with only a single pot of coffee between eight officers. He had personally glared down Prideux just a few minutes before for the last cup; said cup of coffee sat half-drunk and lukewarm at the corner of his papers. Javert allowed a feline grin of satisfaction at the memory of Prideux shrinking back and making a new pot of coffee with the attitude of a whipped cur; the man's annoying mannerisms really made tiny victories like that gratifying.
Javert shook his head slightly. Pity when one's only entertainment came in the form of office victories, he mused, picking up the cup of coffee and grimacing at the grounds that swished into his mouth. That was the worst part about the last cup…He made his best attempt to ignore the grit and concentrate on the work at hand.