Five Minutes
By jenelin
Our story begins...
It is quite definitely not a dark and stormy night. It is not stormy at all.
It's not even night.
Let us recap the action so far.
Because of the facts stated, we can deduce that our story begins on a bright and pleasant day. This fact is not, in fact, related to our tale at all, but the author felt it her duty to set the scene a little.
Once again, our story begins (brightly and pleasantly).
A man walked down the street. He was tall and slender. Had he been a member of the sheriff's posse in a cheesy old western movie he might have been given the name 'Slim.' However, he was a student in nineteenth century Paris, so his friends just called him Enjolras. If anyone had tried to call him 'Slim,' he probably would have punched their lights out...if he had not been rather opposed to violence in such cases. In actuality he would have just given them a smoldering stare until they ran away whimpering.
His stare was famous. Only one person had ever been able to stare back for a prolonged period of time, and he was now running around in a field somewhere wearing a sundress, tipping sheep over and telling everyone he was Napoleon (which implies that he had gone mad).
The bright and pleasant day had darkened up a bit. It was nearing dusk, and in another part of Paris, another man walked down the street. He was tall and massive. Had he been a member of a group of Hell's Angels he might have been given the name 'Bulldog.' However, he was a police inspector in nineteenth century Paris, so everyone just called him Javert. If anyone had tried to call him 'Bulldog,' he probably would have smacked them on the head with a truncheon...if he had not gotten in trouble for doing just that very thing so many times. In actuality he would have to settle for giving them a smoldering stare until they ran away crying.
His stare was famous. Only one person had ever been able to stare back for a prolonged period of time, and he was now skipping around in an Australian bar wearing a fig leaf, throwing clumps of mud in people's faces and telling everyone he was Mr. Sandman (which implies that he had gone mad because everyone knows the Sandman doesn't wear a fig leaf...well...except on special occasions).
There were many other people walking around in Paris that day. They don't matter one little bit. I don't want to destroy their self-confidence, but it's true. They don't matter one little bit (expect to their mothers, of course). Our story is only concerned with the two individuals who have been introduced thus far.
Enjolras was walking one way. Javert was walking another. Because they were not following parallel lines, they were bound to meet up sometime. And they did.
As Enjolras walked along he was thinking very hard. He was thinking so hard that he did not notice the large policeman who stood in front of him.
"Oof!" grunted Javert as Enjolras plowed into him.
"Oh my," said Enjolras. "So sorry. Didn't see you there."
Javert growled menacingly. "How dare you attack me like that!"
"Attack, Inspector? I'm sorry, but I did not attack you. I was simply not paying attention to where I was going."
Javert was not in a good mood. He was angry and bitter (he was out of snuff). He wanted to kick someone's ass. So he did the only thing he could think of. He arrested Enjolras for attacking a police officer. It wasn't true, but it sure made him feel better.
"What is your name?" asked Javert after he had dragged Enjolras down to the office.
"Enjolras."
"First or last?"
"Pardon?"
"Is Enjolras your first or last name?"
"Last."
"Would you like to tell me your first name?"
"Luc."
"Thank you." Javert made a note of this on a clipboard. "Now, I'm going to have to tell your parents about what you've done."
Enjolras frowned. "My parents? Inspector, I am an adult."
Javert looked at Enjolras' boyish face and slender figure. "An adult? Really. Well, you don't look it. Tell me how I can contact your parents."
Because he had little choice, Enjolras told him. Javert refused to let him leave until one of both of Enjolras' parents showed up to bail him out. They waited, and waited and waited. Enjolras' parents lived far away.
Finally a short dark man waddled into the office. "Hello, Inspector," he said. "What has my son done?"
Javert told him.
The small man was outraged. "Shame on you! Shame! Shame!"
"But I didn't do anything," Enjolras told him.
"Listen to me," wheezed the swarthy man. "You never listen to me. Listen to me now." He paused for a moment to cough up a piece of chicken bone before continuing. "Luc...I am your father..."
"No you're not!"
The man coughed again. "Well, technically I'm not. But when we found you in the suitcase in that station, we took you in as our own. In that way, Luc, I am your father. And I'm ashamed of you." His eyes were glassy and rather blank. "And that's all I have to say." He left the office quickly, leaving a vague scent of cabbage water in the room.
"Hmm," said Javert after he had gone. "He was not helpful at all. We'll have to settle this some other way."
"How about a staring contest!" exclaimed someone from the doorway.
Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Grantaire, what are you doing here?"
"Heard you were in trouble. Thought I'd come to have a good laugh."
Javert appeared to be considering Grantaire's suggestion. He knew full well the power of his stare. "I believe the drunk has a good idea. A staring contest. Starting...now!"
Enjolras shrugged and met Javert's gaze. He was sick of this whole business. Javert obviously had mental problems. He would defeat him with his stare and be done with this whole silly episode.
They stared. And stared. And stared. Javert's sideburns were damp from sweat. Enjolras' skin was glowing (well, you don't think he'd do anything so dirty as sweat, do you?) Soon, a large vein in Javert's neck started to bulge. Enjolras' eyes were bloodshot.
An hour passed.
Grantaire was getting bored. Javert and Enjolras continued to stare, neither of them showing any sign that they would be stopping soon. "Did you know that if you stare into someone's eyes for five minutes you fall in love with them?"
Javert and Enjolras showed no sign that they had heard him. Grantaire groaned and left to find something to drink.
The contest continued. Outside, it was now a dark night (although not stormy). Finally, snoring started to erupt from Javert. Enjolras smiled. He had won. This stupid episode was over with. He quickly left the office and went home.
It was another bright and pleasant day when Enjolras and Javert next met. Javert turned a corner and there was Enjolras, looking like a Greek god. There was no breeze, yet Enjolras' golden hair was blowing back from his face. Javert's heart skipped around in his chest.
Enjolras looked up and saw Javert staring at him. His heart also skipped around in his chest. He did not want another experience like his last one. "Inspector!"
"Enjolras!" Javert growled. "Have you missed me?"
"Um..." Enjolras cleared his throat. "No. Not really."
Javert looked shocked. "You mean you haven't felt it? Felt that feeling that makes you want to skip through the daisies and tiptoe through the tulips and serenade the stars?"
Enjolras looked innocent. "Why, Inspector, I have no idea what you are talking about."
"But didn't you hear what that drunk said? If you stare into someone's eyes for five minutes, you fall in love! It was true!" Javert's heels were clicking merrily and he had a strange grin on his face. "I'm in love...with you!"
"Well," said Enjolras calmly, "I'm sorry. I have felt no such thing."
Javert looked crushed. "But...but..."
"I'm sorry."
Javert held back a tear. "Then I guess I'll leave you now. If only you felt what I did!" Suddenly he grabbed Enjolras and clutched him to what would have been his bosom, had he not been of the male persuasion. "Are you sure we couldn't make it work?"
Enjolras struggled out of his grasp. "Yes. Now go."
"Oh!" cried Javert despairingly as he ran off.
Enjolras watched him leave before collapsing against the wall. "Oh, the misery!" he cried. "The despair!" He gazed longingly in the direction Javert had gone. "If only...but no! I cannot! How can I dedicate my life to my country and to the man I fell in love with in those first five minutes of staring? I cannot!"
Poor Enjolras. Poor Javert.
Well, poor Enjolras at least. Javert had heard Enjolras' short soliloquy and had a plan.
It was night. Everyone had left the café except for Enjolras, who was studying some charts. Javert walked silently in, having discarded his uniform for a revolutionary's outfit.
"What does this mean?" asked Enjolras when he caught sight of Javert.
"I have come to join you, darling! I will give up my career for you! Together we can fight for liberty!"
Enjolras was shocked and surprised, but quite overjoyed at this change of events. "Why that's perfect!" he exclaimed. "That's wonderful! My Javvie!"
"My Enjy!"
They grasped each other tightly, standing cheek to cheek (or cheek to sideburn, if you will) and sighed in unison, "Oh!"
They were very happy.
And so it seems we have come to the end. And although it is not necessary for you to know...
It was a dark and stormy night...
And our story ends.