Les Mis is not mine, and I make no money from this.

The women of Montreuil sur Mer seemed entirely unable to resist Jean Madeleine. He was a tall handsome man with dark curls that cut close to his head and an attractive smile. Their interest in the man was only enflamed by the employment he brought with him.

He was the kindly pious man who had given them a job, money with which to put their food onto their table. He seemed like a fairly simple man, however, it had been noted he had few friends. He was quite pleasant to anyone who spoke to him, but the only person he went out of his way to speak to was Inspector Javert.

Mademoiselle Bernadette was the first woman who decided to make a determined effort to get close to the mayor. She lived with her grandfather in a house nearby to the mayor. She had been educated in a nunnery, and so was quite capable of using scripture in her everyday speech.

Admittedly, Bernadette had had to study scripture again, to try and remember what it was she learnt. Her grandfather had been thrilled to see her reading through the Bible with some fervour. Once she was confident she could quote correctly, she began putting herself in his everyday path.

She tried sliding up to him in the market, to weave her way through the stalls and over to him. He would talk briefly with her, before excusing himself. It was somewhat irritating that he did not want to talk with her, but she was determined. After all, love is patient.

It was after dawn mass on a warm summer morning that she approached him with intent. She flicked her long blonde hair over a shoulder, shifted so a hip stuck out and smiled gently at him.

"Monsieur le mayor. Good morning."

"Oh, good morning, Mademoiselle..."

"Bernadette, monsieur. I live over the road from you."

"Ah. Mademoiselle Bernadette. A pleasure, I'm sure."

She shifted closer to him, hoping he could smell the perfume she had used. The man she had bought it from had assured her it was strong enough to attract most men to her.

"I was wondering if you would like to enjoy a drink with me, Monsieur." He turned, and raised his brow. His dark eyes seemed to shine with curiosity.

"A drink? At this hour?"

"Oh, I meant tea, monsieur. My uncle has sent me some leaves that he assures me are most delicious. I was wondering if you would like to try them with them. She smiled at him, and battered her eye lashes.

Madeleine gave her a hesitant smile in response. He turned to give a reply to her request, when his shadow appeared at his side.

"Monsieur le mayor."

"Ah, Javert. This is Mademoiselle Bernadette. She has invited me over for tea. Perhaps you could join us?" He glanced back at her and added on, "If that is acceptable?"

"Of course." She hissed, willing the policeman to turn the offer down.

"I am afraid I cannot, monsieur. I was under the impression we were going riding together. If this is not the case, then I shall head to the station and get some work done."

The mayor gave him a horrified look, turning to place two large hands on his shoulders.

"Oh no, my good man. You are having the day off. Did you want to make an early start? We should go and prepare now then." He glanced back at Bernadette with an apologetic expression. "I am sorry, my dear, but I cannot."

As they walked away, she was sure the inspector smirked at her.

Mère Inès was a forty two year old widow. She was not a terribly popular woman about the town, the loud arguments she had had with her husband had left her with a bad reputation. The fact that she liked to be called by her own first name, rather than any that linked her to her husband, even after his death, had left her with an even worse one.

She was quite taken with Monsieur Madeleine though. He often came into her bakery for bread. He always had a friendly smile for her, and he did not bicker with her over prices either. He came in every Saturday, every Monday and every Wednesday.

She started putting on low cut dresses, with her corset laced tightly enough to make her bosom appear vast. She painted her lips and combed her hair. She practised smiling in a small mirror.

Inès was not the most attractive woman, she was aware. Her hair was not long and soft like the young woman who strutted about in town, and she was aware her face had scars from when she caught smallpox as a child. She wore the scars proudly though, a testament to her body's ability to pull through.

She tried to talk about it with the mayor. She tried to point out how she was a hardy woman; it was obvious, after all, that a dainty woman who fainted at the sight of blood would be no good for a down-to-Earth man like Madeleine.

She smiled broadly one afternoon, when the mayor stepped into the bakery, thrusting out her bosom. Behind him, inspector Javert followed. A glance at her pocket watch told her it was after four in the afternoon. The inspector was usually free at this time; this was noted because after two o'clock on the weekend, the inspector was normally found trailing after the mayor.

He was like an overgrown, shy puppy dog. Eager for attention, but often flinching when he received it. Inès would quite happily have them both, but Javert was referred to as a sexless statue for a reason. The only one he responded to in any way was Madeleine, and she was sure the man had never had intercourse in his life; the whores that tried to attract him in an attempt simply received a bemused expression, as though he did not quite understand what they were trying to do.

She had done some hunting though, and discovered that today was the mayor's birthday. She had spent the past few weeks preparing for this, and had baked a cake. She was not entirely sure how pure the sugar she had used was, but it was not important, the mix had tasted fine before she actually baked it.

She did not have anything to top the cake with, but the mayor was quite capable of appreciating things without excessive decoration.

"Monsieur, I have your regular order. I also have an extra gift."

"A gift?"

"Yes, Monsieur. Here. I have baked you a cake."

"A cake? My goodness..." He looked startled, and rubbed a hand through his curls, flushing in a most attractive manner.

She presented him with the plate. Upon it, the cake sat nicely, and she was most pleased it had not caved in, but had kept its lovely dome. He hesitantly accepted the cake, smiling and thanking her. Javert was the one who stepped forwards to accept the bread.

Once the mayor had left, heading home while keeping the cake held carefully in between his hands, Javert turned to fix his frown on her.

"You should not make him so uncomfortable by presenting yourself in such a manner."

"Pardon?"

"You should leave him alone. You should treat him in a manner befitting his station."

He spun and stormed out the shop, coat tails flaring out behind him. She scowled. Maybe finding someone to have sex with would help; he may become slightly less possessive of Madeleine.

Ocèane was a young woman with short black hair and deep blue eyes. Her body was incredibly thin and she had a bad cough that had clung to her like a leech for nearly two months. She, like many of the other women who walked the night, had seen the mayor of their town.

The mayor was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen; his strong arms bulged under his coat, his smile was attractive, the sight of his thighs caused her limbs to quiver. She watched him give money to those who desperately needed it, and decided to start venturing into the centre of the town. It was not always a good idea; the people who had money, the people with their virtue did not like to see those who sold their bodies.

She had nothing else to sell though, having used most of her teeth, and selling her hair whenever it got long enough. She was an orphan, her parents having died many years ago by some form of cholera. The doctors she had watched them visit had not really cared what was wrong, claiming it looked like the many cases of cholera they had seen and that it was not likely they would survive.

Ocèane had adapted though, and now she spent time walking in the town centre. She still scattered when she heard the sound of horse hoofs, in case it was the police, however she was determined to get what she wanted.

She mused quietly that it would be best to be blunt about what she wanted. This desire was to be noticed by the mayor. He would use her body, and she would be looked after in return.

The main problem in this was finding time when Monsieur Madeleine was not with Inspector Javert. It was fairly common to see Javert marching about the place, giving commands and threatening arrest. However, he seemed to almost walk the mayor home every day.

They often walked together, they also seemed to touch a lot, and they even smiled at each other. It was the last that struck her as odd, because neither Madeleine nor Javert really smiled at anyone. The only time Madeleine smiled was if he had to talk to someone, the rest of the time he walked about with a frown upon his face. Javert only really smiled for Madeleine, though it seemed there were two of his officers he tolerated enough to smile with.

It was late in the evening when Ocèane set out to see the mayor. She had followed him home a few days earlier, and had spent the time after that planning. She had not taken any customers since then, not wanting her body to be recently used; to make herself as attractive as possible.

She approached his small home, the setting sun leaving a soft glow along the lane. That was good. The evening glow made her look more attractive than full light.

She knocked upon the door, debating what to say to his house keeper to be allowed inside.

It was Monsieur Madeleine himself who opened the door. He managed a smile at her and waited for why she was here.

"Monsieur, you live a lonely life. I am here to offer myself to you." She fluttered her eyes, and then crossed her arms to make her chest stand out. The mayor gave her a horrified stare, before managing to school it into something milder.

"I... No. Thank you." Manners forgotten, he turned and shut the door.

She flinched, and turned to walk home. The matter to be forgotten.

It was about a week later that she noticed how harsh Javert had been to her recently. She was a little curious as to why at first, before realising she must have been a topic of conversation on one of their evening walks.

She chuckled, and the next time she saw the inspector, she took pains to point out he did not have to view her as a threat to their chaste little romance. He had flushed and stared at her with wide eyes before frowning and telling her to clear away.

Louise was another young woman who had noticed the many attractive features of the mayor. She, too, had spent much time wondering what it would be like to have those strong hands rove over her body, to feel those lips upon her own, to gaze into those eyes and have time to determine their colour.

She, too, had noticed the large amount of time the mayor spent with the inspector. It was not a complaint, as such, merely an observation. After all, she was simply one of his factory workers, and she would not deny the man a friend.

She often enjoyed long walks by the river Canche, watching the water flow in a constant flow that could rise and fall, but did not fail. She enjoyed it. She liked to stand and think about many things in life. Getting the mayor to notice her was included in this area; she wanted him to see her as an attractive person he whose hand he could take.

She had also made an effort to be kind to Javert. The man tolerated her, and allowed her to him what she knew about various people to watch out for. He seemed quite confused when she smiled at him, or thanked him. One of the women at the factory had pointed out no one was nice to that man without hidden intentions. Most had committed a crime, others wanted to sleep with him; she wanted to do neither.

It was quite true, Louise did not want to be his friend simply for the sake of being his friend; however, he did not seem to understand that she fit into neither of his usual categories and could still smile at him. He did not have enough friends.

While she was able to smile at the inspector with some frequency, she did not see Monsieur Madeleine very often. He was in the factory before she started work on a morning and was usually there after she left. He occasionally left to go sort things out, but he had an assistant to do all the busy work for him.

About twice a week, Javert appeared to give a report. It was usually about lunch time, and the report tended to last about an hour. She suspected they shared a meal when he came to do his report, but she did not comment on this to the other women. They were bad enough for gossip as it was.

It was early in the evening during summer when she took another one of her frequent walks along the banks of the Canche. She was happily dreaming about her father leading her towards the altar, the mayor stood waiting for her at the end of the walk.

She slipped and tumbled down the muddy bank. She fell into the water, and began to panic. She screamed and shouted as she struggled, unable to really swim, having only listened to her brother brag about how far into the water he could get.

A few moments later, she felt two strong arms wrap around her from behind. She struggled, kicking and wriggling. She was pulled to the surface and dragged over to the bank. Another two hands pulled her up and back onto the path.

She turned and flung herself at the sopping wet rescuer, planting a kiss on his cheek. She kept her arms around the man, but pushed her hair out of her face over his shoulder.

She was pulled off him, and flung onto the path again. She gasped, both in shock, and trying to catch her breath after being in the water. The mayor... it had been the mayor who had jumped in the water after her.

It must have been Javert who had pulled them back up the bank and he was currently alternating between glaring at her and fussing over the mayor.

She discovered later that the inspector no longer accepted her help. He no longer tried to return her smiles and he no longer allowed her near Monsieur Madeleine without scowling at her.

She shouldn't have kissed the mayor.

Riana was a gardener. She dearly loved tending the gardens in the town of Montreuil sur Mer. It was a passion she had had since she was a child. Both her parents had died during the riots at the end of the century. They had been firm believers in the revolution. She had escaped from the place with an elderly couple. They had seen her alone, starving on the streets; they had taken her in, fed her, acted as her parents. They had raised her with love. Their own child had died when she was young, and Riana's sickly form had struck a chord with them.

Her new father had shown her how to tend to a garden; to love the seeds she planted. She loved the flowers. She loved to give them to various people. She truly loved seeing people's faces light up when something beautiful appeared before them.

She once handed the mayor of the town a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums. He had smiled at her, and thanked her. She had not asked for payment. His smile had easily been enough. She was determined to make him smile at her like that as well.

She liked to wait around on an evening, keeping her best flowers for whoever if came across. If she happened to come across the mayor on his walk home with inspector Javert, then so be it. She never did give the inspector any flowers; he did not seem to be the kind of man who enjoyed such frivolities.

Riana enjoyed the chance to stop and talk to the mayor on an evening. He was most beautiful in the evening light. She dreamed of pressing a kiss to his cheek, or cuddling into his strong chest. She dreamed of his love. Sometimes, she even dreamed of making love. These left her flushed and embarrassed though.

Soon, she realised it was not enough to occasionally brush his fingers when she handed him a flower. She wanted to feel more. She began grabbing his hand when she spoke to him, smiling more than usual.

She began trying to get Mayor Madeleine's attention. It was not easy; he was apparently far denser than any of the heroes she read about in her books.

It was subtle, but the inspector appeared to have noticed what she was doing. The mayor was suddenly wearing gloves whenever the two men were walking, despite the warming spring temperatures. When it reached the stage it was too warm to reasonably wear gloves, Javert started inserting himself between the mayor and Riana.

He was the one who accepted the flowers, before turning and handing them to the mayor. He started trying to stop the conversations she had with the mayor. It was true, the mayor did nothing to stop this himself, but he may not have realised what Javert was doing. He was still very dense in certain matters.

One evening, she decided to make a statement. She openly asked Javert to step back for a moment, so that she may have a word with Monsieur le Mayor. He huffed, but Madeleine laid a hand upon his shoulder, and the man took a few steps back.

Riana grasped the mayor's hand, pulled him further away from the inspector and took a deep breath.

"Monsieur Madeleine. I was wondering... if we could court."

"Pardon?" The man looked startled.

"Please, monsieur. At least consider it."

"I... I... Well,"

"Monsieur, will this be long? I was under the impression we were going to dinner." Javert apparently could not cope with her talking to the man for so long.

"Ah, yes." He smiled broadly at her, and her heart fluttered. "I am going to make Javert a proper meal. He does not eat correctly. He does not even seem to eat often enough." The last was said in a whisper, and her expression fell when she realised the smile was for Javert, and not her.

As the two men turned to leave, Javert whispered to her, "Madeleine will not be courting you. He has far better things to do with his time."

She reluctantly took a hint.

Jean Valjean was living a lie. He was pretending to be someone he was not. As this was the case, he was trying to avoid too greatly getting to know people, it was unfair to them.

He spent time in his office, working through both the paperwork for the factory and the paperwork for the town. He read through the reports from the hospitals, from the police, from various politicians. He read through paperwork that had come in from Paris.

It had been a long day, and he was waiting for Javert to arrive. He greatly enjoyed spending time with the man. Javert was a handsome man; he was tall, strong with blue eyes that could shine when he allowed his sense of humour to emerge.

Valjean could admit that even though he had set out with the expectation that he would hate the man, Javert had broken through all his carefully erected defences. He was fairly certain he had fallen in love with the man. He had spent many evenings, trying desperately to recall the hatr- no. He had not hated Javert, even in Toulon; he had felt some admiration for a guard who actually strove to upload the laws, even amongst the guards. He had felt displeasure when he had been beaten, and obviously, he had felt a great deal of attraction whenever he saw the face of the other.

He had never hated Javert. Now, it was impossible. He enjoyed spending his time with Javert, and he was aware that Javert returned the sentiment. He was unsure of how strongly it was returned, but he knew it was there.

He saw it in those blue eyes when he spent time with him; there was affection and possibly even love in Javert's face when he looked at his superior... at his superior, and at in a lie.

Valjean would love nothing more than to take Javert's face in his hands and kiss the lips that he dreamt about. He often thought, during the long days he spent at his desk, of pulling Javert into his lap, or into his chest, or pinning him to the desk.

He dreamt of doing what many men at Toulon did. He had to admit, he dreamt of intercourse with Javert; of the man bent over his desk, completely bare...

He could not do it though. He could not lie to the man like that. Javert would happily lie with Madeleine; the inspector would never lie with Valjean though. The ex-convict could not do that to the man he loved so dearly, so he kept a check on himself, and endeavoured to keep his love hidden.

It was during one of Valjean's rare trips out on his own that he noticed a woman trying to gain Javert's attention. He had gone for a walk, refusing to sit in the office and pretend to work, and so had set out for the chapel a mere 20 minute walk away. The day was pleasantly mild and he enjoyed the warm wind on his face.

On his walk down, he noticed Javert stopped by a door way. He was conversing with a dark haired young woman. Valjean frowned slightly, but carried on regardless. Nearby, he could see two of Javert's officers arresting a man and leading him away, so he assumed the woman was the victim of a crime.

As the crowd dispersed, the mayor walked over to his inspector, just in time to see the woman jump at him. She literally threw herself of the step she was on and into Javert's arms. It was unacceptable, and Valjean stormed over. He placed two hands on her shoulders and roughly detached her from the shocked man.

"I do not think that is an appropriate way for a woman to act." He muttered angrily at her.

"Monsieur, I am sure Madame Noèmie was just a little over enthusiastic in her response."

"The only arms a married woman ought to throw herself into, my dear Javert are those of her husband."

Javert rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but said nothing. The woman hurried over to one of the remaining officers, leaving the two men alone.

"I... apologise, Javert. I did not mean to insult you in any manner. I am aware you are proper in your duties."

"Please, monsieur, do not apologise. Are you heading out for a walk? Would you like some company?"

"How many times must I insist, Javert? Call me Madeleine. I would love some company."

He would have loved to take Javert's hands in his own and kiss them. He would have preferred to press a kiss to the man's lips, so everyone here could see who he belonged to. It would have been even better to bite his skin in moments of passion, in a visible place if possible, so the whole town knew not to approach the man.

He did no such thing though, simply walking beside him and insist the inspector call him by a false name, so that he could remember to contain himself. Maybe, one day, he could admit the truth, and Javert would forgive him.

It would not be today though.