Author's Notes: A small piece I came up with after watching Hugo for the second time. I've always loved the Inspector, he's so stern, such a law-clinger...yet there's a very, very vulnerable part of him that's mostly only hinted at in the movies. I wanted to show that hidden side. :)

To Be Whole

SQUEAK.

Gustav bent his knee slightly, his mouth tightening into a thin line as the malicious metal cage wrapped around his leg let out a petty shriek. It was as if it was calling the entire station to witness, "Behold! Here walks a man with a thing attached to the bottom of him! He doesn't work as well as the rest of you…he can't do his job as well as the others. He really isn't any good at all!"

Oh, his brace told that to everyone, always with that peculiar sound. SQUEAK as he stepped forward, SQUEAK as he went up stairs, SQUEAK every time it was hungry for oil. Every time, it gossiped about like a laundry woman, telling everyone Gustav's leg didn't work.

It was why he tried so hard to bring in every maledict, every criminal, no matter how small. He broke things and shoved aside civilians and bruised himself on more objects than he liked to remember, but he always brought in his man…or woman…or child. Even a baby, if such tiny things could commit felonies.

And when he reported yet another offender for the Head Inspector to come and pick up, the Head Inspector didn't seem to hear Gustav's impudent brace when it cried with a squeak, this is a man who doesn't work as well as others!

But even if some people seemed not to hear anymore, Gustav knew they really did…he knew that everyone did. So when his brace squeaked, he felt that queer, unhappy twist in his stomach, that heavy ache behind his eyes. It wasn't pleasant. It wasn't professional. The best he could do was to try and keep the brace quiet and keep bringing in criminals.

Speaking of criminals…he saw the Boy, the one with shaggy black hair and bright blue eyes as he came racing across the terminal. He looked very much the same since the last time Gustav saw him, except his hair wasn't shaggy anymore and he wore a new suit of clothes. It was a good look for the Boy…like he belonged to someone.

The Boy usually came here at this time, running like a mad man through the crowds on his way to the toy booth that he ran with his adopted father…or grandfather. It wasn't really Gustav's place to speculate on such things. His place was to stop the Boy by the collar and tell him, once more, that he was a child and not a motorcar and he should not be running people over.

Except the Boy stopped without being collared. He skidded to his knees on the floor a few feet in front of Gustav and pulled a notebook and pencil out of his pocket. Still on his knees, he crawled to the side a ways and leaned his head sideways. His bright blue eyes narrowed and a thoughtful fire kindled in them as he gazed at Gustav's brace.

The twisting feeling in Gustav's gut began. Not the ache, just the twist. People everywhere heard his brace complain all the time…they never stopped to just stare at it. He forgot to pull the Boy up by the lapels and educate him. Instead, he turned so his leg was hidden and watched the Boy with concern, hoping he'd go away.

The Boy shuffled sideways with him until he could see the brace again. It really was a very unusual occurrence, one Gustav wasn't quite prepared for. He swallowed, staring at the smoke from the distant trains for a moment. "What…what do you want, Boy?" His voice sounded heavy and painful, as if he were the criminal, not the other way around. He cleared his throat roughly and tried again. "Boy!" He said sternly, "Has no one taught you it is rude to stare?"

The Boy looked up at him. "I just need to…just for a minute."

Need to? Need to look at Gustav's brace, the metal cage that held the shattered remains of what had once been a leg? Yet there was no mockery in the Boy's face…he wasn't listening to the brace, he was too busy looking…not at the brace, but the leg beneath.

Gustav shifted uncomfortably and glanced down at it. The brace was acting up already today, bending his leg at an odd angle. Angrily, he reached down and snapped it straight with a sharp click. His gut twisted harder.

The Boy watched him a moment. "You have oiled it, haven't you?"

"Yes, yes of course," Gustav replied automatically, biting the inside of his cheek. "Boy, you must not be bothering officers and inspectors…it is not a crime but it is quite close to it. You must not irritate and infuriate officers of the law, do I make myself clear?"

This speech would have worked on the Boy before, but now that he belonged to somebody he seemed to have as little fear of the Law as he did of Gustav. Gustav fervently hoped it was because he belonged to somebody, not because Gustav wore a brace.

"You told me the Orphanage taught you to keep to yourself, and obey orders…" the Boy hesitated, "Did it teach you to be…to be kind?"

Gustav stared at this strange boy as the strange boy stared up at him. He didn't know why the boy would ask about it…he didn't belong to the orphanage now and, hopefully, never would again. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was afraid of going back. Gustav almost smiled. At last, the boy was showing some sense, some fear of the law and its retribution. "No, no…people must not be taught how to be kind…people must be kind. The orphanage teaches you to survive, to do what you're supposed to do in life...it fixes you."

"Is that why you bring all the orphans in…because they're broken?"

Proud of the progress they were making, Gustav nodded importantly, clasping his hands behind his back. He didn't notice the boy start scratching notes in his little book, all the while glancing back at the brace. "Exactly right, my little man. When a child loses his parents, he's broken. The Orphanage fixes them right up, makes them fit for life ahead."

The Boy considered this briefly. Then, he looked at the brace. The thoughtful fire in his blue eyes grew dim as he imagined a world darker than any he'd ever known. He was wondering, wondering what could make a man's leg into what he saw before him. "Did…did the war teach you to be kind?"

Gustav forgot the boy was staring at his brace. He forgot the train station. He forgot everything.

He remembers the night sky above, coated with smoke, torn by shrieking bolts of fire that lend among the other men. He remembers watching in horror as their skin turns black and their uniforms sprout flames and the stench of it rises in the air. He realizes he can smell them burning…and they're still alive.

He tries not to breathe it in. He buries his face in the cold, earthy walls of the dugout and pulls his coat over his neck. He tries to think of something, anything else but the terrible screams of frenzied pain, the curses that spill from the cracked, bleeding lips as men denounce God, their homes, their families, anything they can think of. Earth patters at his helmet as it falls from the sky, like debris left over from the roar of sound that floods the world every time a missile falls.

He hears the whistle and leaps upright, (I learned to obey orders) too terrified to stay in the trenches any longer with those dying men. Hands rip through dead grass and shreds of soldiers as he crawls on his belly through the destruction. Sharp metal bits slice through his uniform. He keeps crawling. Then he gets up. Then he runs.

And then comes the pain.

The earth buckles and gravity explodes from inside his knee, sending bits of it everywhere and he screams. He's felt pain before, but never like this. (I learned to keep my place) The world spins around him as every fiber of his leg splits apart and he feels the sharp cracking and snapping run up his limb…he can't hear it over the roaring scream of the missile, but he feels it.

Then, his head collides with something. His body slams into a wall. A second later and he opens his eyes to see the sky above, throbbing with fire and smoke. He realizes the wall he hit was really the ground, and that wet feeling crawling up his trouser isn't rain…its blood.

He hears a wheezing sound and realizes that's him. He's breathing and sobbing and screaming at the same time…he's alive. But all he can think about is one thing; one thing no one ever taught him. Not the orphanage, not the death of his grandmother, not the fire that took away his mother. One thought that makes his gut twist and his eyes ache with terrible, violated pain.

It isn't supposed to be like this.

"Inspector?"

The little voice startled him. His face felt hot, and something wet and burning trickled slowly from his reddened eyes. He sniffed violently, resisting the urge to use his sleeve to wipe his face. Better not make it anymore obvious than it already was…better to keep talking, before the Boy did. "Yes, the war taught me…taught me that, that there are so many people…broken people, in the world, eh? So there's no reason to go around breaking any more of them."

He turned briskly, glancing around the station as he always did when looking for criminals. His leg squeaked but he ignored it. He was too busy waiting for the ache in his eyes to go away. The notebook had almost fallen out of the Boy's limp hands as he watched Gustav, but now he made a few more marks with it in with his pencil and then stuffed it into his pocket.

Gustav didn't realize the Boy had moved until he suddenly stood beside him, his little shoulder almost brushing against Gustav's arm. The child bit his lip a moment…he looked as if he was searching for the right words to say. "You know, I don't think orphanages fix people…I think kindness does."

What nonsense. What fantasy. Silly idea, that was. A silly idea from a silly child who used to be a criminal. Still…

He saw Lisette by her flower stand, laughing gently as a troop of girls picked out their favorite colors for a school bouquet. She lost her brother in the war…broke a part of herself. But people were kind to her. They gave her something to do, something to live for. Now she was kind to others. Especially to Gustav.

And she was whole.

He suddenly realized the boy was gone. Hopefully, he wouldn't get into any more mischief. Taking careful time to straighten his buttons and smooth out his coat, he started walking towards her. SQUEAK went his leg. Lisette looked up at the sound and her face flooded with joy and welcome.

Maybe…maybe kindness did fix things. After all, it was Lisette's kindness that made Gustav smile for the first time that he could remember. It was Lisette that made something in his chest glow, warm and strong. He was in love with her. Because she was beautiful, funny, but most of all…kind.

It was Maximillian's low, throaty growl that woke Gustav that night. He sat up instantly, like the spring in a clock. He would have leapt out of bed that instant and tackled whatever danger his associate had detected, except that his bad leg was tightly wrapped in a sort of sling to keep him from hurting it during the night.

"Who's there?" He asked quickly, sharply. At the same time, he gingerly unwrapped his leg and lowered it to the cold floor. There was that strange feeling like hot liquid shooting through his veins. It always came when he moved his leg after a long period of stillness.

He reached for the brace in the dark. Then, his heart fluttered in panic when his fingers brushed empty air. Gone. Vanished. What kind of thief steals a leg brace? No one collected them, no one would buy them.

With a determined resolve, Gustav grabbed the next best thing. His torch and baton. He really, really didn't want to stand up out of bed, not without his brace. Maximillian's beady eyes shone at him from the dark…he was waiting for a command.

Gustav nodded sharply. "Get him, Maximillian!"

The Doberman gave a bark and a lunge. There was a breathless cry. "Wait!"

Gustav knew that voice. He frowned. Maximillian knew the voice too. He gave an impatient whine but remained where he was, pointed at a small shadow crouched by the vent. Gustav shone the torch on it.

The Boy stood there, his arms wrapped around a bundle of cloth. He looked frightened, glancing from Maximillian to Gustav and back again. Well, he should be frightened. The child had no sense, no respect for the law. Gustav might still have been sitting in bed, but he managed to look stiff and stern even as he pulled a blanket over his lap for privacy's sake. "Oh, so it's you, eh, boy? You might belong to somebody, but that doesn't mean you can commit house breaking! I shall be placing you under arrest until your adults come to get you."

"Wait!" The Boy cried again. He rushed forward, his steps light and rapid as he shied away from Maximillian's growl and knelt on the floor in front of Gustav. Then, his face shining with eagerness, he unwrapped the bundle.

It was an odd construction of clockwork gears. Gustav squinted at it. The child watched his face, half-smiling as he explained, "It was going to be a surprise. I was just going to leave it here. But you saved my life and you let me go to Papa and Mama…and you hate the squeaking, because it reminds you that you're broken."

Suddenly, Gustav realized what the thing was. A new leg brace.

Without explaining himself or asking for permission, the Boy lifted some latches and held it out to him. "Try it on. I'm good with fixing things…it works, it really does."

Without a word, Gustav took it and slowly pulled it on. He snapped it shut, tying the leather braces and brass latches down. Then, holding his breath, he stood up. The Boy stood with him. As he did so, there was no SQUEAK. Only the steady, quiet clicking of a thing that worked. A thing that worked perfectly.

"It…" the ache behind his eyes started up again and he spoke quickly to hide it, "It's a gift, you say?"

The Boy nodded. He bent over to look at Gustav's new leg from different angles, like an artist surveying his finished work. Then, with an air of approval, he took a step back. "It's perfect."

Maximillian suddenly whimpered, shoving his head under the Boy's hand, asking for affection, as if he had adopted the little criminal into their small family of two. Gustav tested the leg with another step. And another. He strode to one end of the little room and back. No awkward bending, no slips, no squeaks…with perfect, measured steps, he turned and gazed at the Boy, not knowing at all what to say.

The child seemed to sense this. Hands in his pockets, a smug smile on his face, he shrugged. "You could say thank you."

Gustav frowns. "Hmmph, well, ah, yes…thank you. Thank you very much, little…little man. This is very kind of you, very…legal."

The Boy burst out laughing. "You're welcome. My name's Hugo, by the way."

"Is it. Ah." Gustav wished to goodness he knew how to sound sociable…he just wasn't used to being friendly with criminals. Or anyone, for that matter.

Luckily, Hugo carried the conversation on. "Thank you again…for saving my life, and all that."

"You are most welcome..." There was a long pause as the new, strange address found its way into Gustav's diction, "…Hugo."

Hugo grinned in response and then turned and scuttled off towards the grate. "I'll still work on the clocks…I'll wind them up every day. You needn't fear! We should see each other quite often now, except you won't be chasing me. Bye Max!"

Maximillian whined and dropped his head between his paws. Gustav still stood there, in the middle of the room, staring at the visage of that strange boy. Hugo flashed him a friendly smile. "Goodbye, Inspector."

Then he was gone.

Gustav slowly sank onto the bed. His new leg brace murmured pleasantly, holding his shattered limb in such a firm, unbending way that there was hardly any pain at all. Almost like it was fixed.

No, it was fixed. Because of Hugo's kindness.

Just as his heart was fixed, because of Lisette's kindness.

Maybe the Boy…Hugo…was right. Orphanages and wars and suffering didn't fix anything. Kindness did. Kindness…and love. Love and sacrifice and hope, all coming together like the clever, nimble hands of a clockmaker, or an angel. They could take a broken soul and give it purpose and life again.

They could make it whole.

FINIS