The summary for this story is taken almost verbatim out of the novel, from the chapter "Change of Gate," where Hugo writes, Cosette adored that good man. She was always following at his heels. Those lines, together with a song that I'll quote later, were the inspiration for this story. I've written a slightly AU story about Valjean and Cosette's time in the convent before, but this story will be an attempt to record their years there in canon. There will probably be several chapters.
Please enjoy, please review, and happy new year!
(For my own reference: 85th fanfiction, 17th story for Les Miserables.)
Au clair de la lune, Pierrot se rendort
Il rêve à la lune, son coeur bat très fort
— Au Clair de la lune, French folk song
The fog hung like a cloud around them, so thick and humid that Valjean could barely see or breathe in it. Neither the lamp-posts on the Paris street nor stars in the sky were bright enough shine through the fog, making it impossible for him to get his bearings. It was a chilly night too, and Cosette was barefoot, wearing nothing but her nightdress. Even though Valjean had wrapped his own coat around her and was holding her close against his chest as he ran, still the girl shivered in his arms, cold and frightened. She would surely fall ill if he didn't find a warm, safe place for them to hide soon... but how would he ever find anything in this fog?
But Valjean ran on blindly, for he had no choice. Somewhere in the fog behind him, Javert was running after them, and he seemed to be getting closer. How was that even possible? Javert couldn't possibly see them through this fog. Yet Valjean could hear his voice still calling, "Valjean! 24601!" And just when Javert's footsteps sounded nearer, almost right on top of him, and it seemed certain that all was lost, that he would be captured and sent back to the galleys, never to see Cosette again, just then, Cosette wrapped both arms around his neck and whispered, "Papa, I need to use the toilet – really bad."
He shifted her in his arms and said quickly, panting from running so hard, "Not now, Cosette." But still she asked, "Papa? Papa?" and Javert shouted again, "24601!" It echoed eerily down the street, sending a shudder through Valjean. He ran faster, but then his foot suddenly caught on something – he couldn't see what – and he and Cosette were tumbling, falling...
"Papa? Papa!"
Valjean jerked awake with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. The dream had been so vivid, so real, that he was almost startled to find himself in bed, his legs twisted up in the blankets. His heart was still pounding, his brow beaded in sweat. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall, as if to reassure himself that it was actually there.
Cosette's voice came softly through the dark. "It's all right, Papa. It was only a bad dream," she said sweetly. She felt around on his bed for his hand, found it, and held it tight, as if he were the child who need comforting. She added in a small voice, "I have them too, sometimes."
Valjean turned to Cosette – he could just see the outline of her in the darkness, standing beside his bed – and held out his arms. "Come here, my girl," he ordered gently. "Papa needs to hold you." Cosette obediently climbed into his bed, settling her small, warm body into his lap, and the lingering fear and panic of his dream quickly faded away. Valjean let out a sigh of relief as he wrapped his arms around Cosette. It was such a comfort to him to have her close, to know that she was safe and warm and well-fed, that he hadn't failed her. She snuggled up against him, her head over his heart, and for a moment, all seemed right with the world.
Then, from across the dark room, Valjean heard strange sounds – someone else shifting about in a bed, yawning, the noise of a match being struck, and then Fauchelevent's bewildered, bleary-eyed face appeared in the flickering orange light.
"What..." he began sleepily, half-awake, and then his eyes widened when they settled on Cosette in her papa's lap. "What on earth?" he asked, surprised. "What is the child doing here at this hour?"
And then Valjean awoke fully and realized that he and Cosette weren't in their old room at the Gorbeau House, as he first thought when he'd woken up. They were now in the Petit Picpus convent, where he and Fauchelevent lived in their little cottage in the garden, and Cosette was supposed to be asleep in her bed in the dormitory-room, on the second floor of the monastery, on the other side of the garden. How on earth could she have left her room, gone downstairs, exited the monastery, crossed the garden, and slipped inside their cottage without one of the sisters noticing? At least one of them was always awake at every hour to pray.
"Cosette," he said, suddenly alarmed, "what are you doing here? How did you get out here?"
Cosette didn't lift her head from over his heart. "I opened the window next to my bed," she said calmly, "and climbed down the trellis. It was easy. Then I just walked across the garden and came in here, and you were having a bad dream."
Valjean's mouth actually fell open a bit. He put both hands on Cosette's shoulders and pulled her back from his chest to look her in the face. "Cosette, that was very naughty of you," he said sternly. "You know you aren't supposed to leave your room in the middle of the night, and climbing down the trellis was dangerous. You could've fallen and hurt yourself."
Cosette burst into tears. "I couldn't sleep," she wailed between her sobs. "I missed you putting me to bed."
Valjean sighed and wiped her face with the sleeve of his night-shirt. He missed putting Cosette to bed, too. When they'd lived in the Gorbeau House, Valjean had given her a bath, read her a bedtime story, listened to her say her prayers, tucked her into bed, and kissed her goodnight every single night. Sometimes she'd slept in his bed with him. Now, living in the convent, he missed putting her to bed more than he would've thought possible.
"Oh, I know, love," he said softly, pulling her close again and rocking her back and forth a bit. "I know it's hard." The two of them had been in the convent for only a week, which was why Valjean still sometimes forgot where he was when he woke up. Cosette probably still did too, and Valjean's heart ached to imagine her waking up in the dormitory-room from a nightmare of her own, not knowing right away where she was or why her papa wasn't right there to hold her.
"Can't you just come inside to kiss me goodnight?" Cosette begged him, still crying.
"Oh, sweetness, I wish I could, but you know I'm not allowed inside the monastery." He paused, trying to find a way to explain it to an eight-year-old. "It's... for girls only. Your Uncle Fauvent and I have to stay out here in the garden because we're boys. I know it's hard right now, but it'll get easier."
Fauchelevent had gotten out of his bed and dipped one of their little tin cups into the water-bucket on the floor. "Here, give her this," he said gruffly, holding it out to Valjean, who took it and passed it to Cosette. She was flushed from crying, and the water tasted so pleasantly cool that she drank the entire cup at once. It seemed to calm her. Valjean wiped her face again.
"Cosette, listen to me now. I don't want you to get into trouble, so I'm going to sneak you back into your room, all right? But you promise me to never do this again."
Cosette was silent for a moment, sniffling and thinking. Then she asked, "Do you promise it'll get easier?"
"Yes, darling, I promise. And I promise that you and I are going to spend time together every single day, always."
"Then I promise, too," Cosette agreed. "I promise I won't sneak out again."
"That's my good girl," Valjean praised, and he kissed her forehead. But when he stood up from his bed to take her back inside, Cosette looked panicked.
"Can we have quiet time first?" she begged. "Please? Just a little?" Quiet time was what Cosette called it when she wanted her papa to hold her, and Valjean had never once been able to say no to her when she asked him for it.
"Of course we can," he answered softly, and he scooped her up into his arms. He held her and paced back-and-forth across the single room – like the parent of a crying infant might do – and stroked her hair. Her hair was always neatly brushed and tied back when he visited with her in the afternoons, but now it was loose and tousled from sleep. Valjean used to brush her hair out for her every morning, but here, he supposed that Cosette brushed it herself. He wasn't there when she woke up anymore, and sadness squeezed his heart again. He held Cosette tighter against him and realized that her body had gone limp in his arms.
"Would you look at that?" asked Fauchelevent, who had gotten up to stoke the embers in the fireplace, even though it was a warm night for autumn. "She's dropped right off, hasn't she?"
"Yes, she usually does when I hold her," Valjean said. He turned his head carefully to see Cosette's face; she was fast asleep against his shoulder, her lips curved upward in the hint of a smile, her cheeks dry of tears. He stroked her hair again. "I'd better get her back inside. I'm sorry she woke you up."
"Oh, it's no bother. She's such a sweet thing."
Outside, the convent garden looked so different in the darkness, but a full moon was hanging low in the Paris sky, casting enough light for Valjean to see by. He walked across the garden, still carrying Cosette, to the trellis that stood against one wall of the monastery. Cosette was right: climbing the trellis was quite easy. It was so easy that Valjean could climb with only one arm, while holding her with his other arm, and in no time, he'd reached the second-floor window into the dormitory-room. It was still partially open, from when Cosette had snuck out.
Valjean stuck his head through the window and looked up and down the row of beds against the wall. The other little girls were all sleeping soundly, not one of them even stirring. He hesitated. He had agreed to not set foot inside the convent, but Cosette's bed was right there, just a few feet from the window. The sisters would never know. He took a deep breath and slipped inside as stealthily as he could.
Cosette stirred a bit as he laid her down in her bed. "Goodnight, Papa," she slurred, half-awake.
Valjean smiled, tucked the blankets around her, and kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, precious," he whispered into her ear. "Sweet dreams." And with that, he climbed silently out of the window, sliding it shut behind him, and back down the trellis. Once in his bed in the cottage again, he slept peacefully the rest of the night through, and so did Cosette, for he had tucked her in.