Originally written in April of 2013.


The first time Javert had walked in on le maire sound asleep at his desk, the Inspector wasn't sure if it was within his rights to wake him. He had come in to give his report but now stood lingering awkwardly in the doorway, afraid to let himself in without permission. Should he cross the room to politely nudge Monsieur Madeleine awake? Or was that pushing the boundaries too far?

Javert glanced over his shoulder, but the factory workers below were oblivious to his trivial dilemma and the foreman was no where in sight. His blue eyes flashed back to the slumbering man, his conscience conflicted.

Pursing his lips, Javert decided to risk a reprimand and quietly crossed the floor. As he neared, the mayor's soft snores could be heard. The man's cheek rested upon the papers he had been reviewing; his curly brown hair framed his face perfectly. Javert was loathe to wake him — he looked too peaceful and the man deserved a good rest.

But if Javert didn't wake him, then there was always a chance he'd be upset that someone hadn't done so. "Why did you continue to let me sleep?" he might ask. "There were things that needed to be done!"

Javert raised a tentative hand, removing his glove as he did so with the other, and let out a tiny breath before moving to gently shake le maire's shoulder. As he did so, the back of his hand brushed against a curl of Madeleine's hair, tickling the skin. Javert gasped involuntarily at the touch, a small shiver running down the length of his arm.

Monsieur Madeleine's hair was incredibly soft. Without thinking, Javert tenderly ran a small lock of brunet hair between his fingers. Before he knew it, the Inspector suddenly had an irrational urge to run his hands through those curls, twisting and pulling or even just caressing.

The thought scared him, but not as much as the fact that Monsieur Madeleine was now stirring, snores dying away. Javert's hand retreated as if he had touched a hot stove and he stepped several paces back, shoving his naked hand back in the glove. His cheeks burned as he stood at attention, spine stiff as iron.

Monsieur Madeleine sat up groggily, yawning softly to himself. He blinked sleepy, milk-chocolate eyes at Javert before smiling a smile of understanding, showing his dimples.

"You know, for someone who patrols France's streets with an iron fist, you sure have a gentle touch."

Javert paled whiter than a sheet. His eyes widened involuntarily and his mouth worked silently like a gaping fish. "I—forgive me, Monsieur le Maire, I didn't—you were—"

The mayor chuckled, waving a hand loftily in the air. "Inspector, Inspector," he muttered good-naturedly, standing and moving to shut the door. Javert remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe. "I meant no harm by my comment, forgive me. You were only doing myself a favor by waking me, do not worry yourself."

Madeleine stopped before Javert, offering a smaller, more intimate smile. "Relax… please, Javert."

Javert's breathing was still unsteady, but he allowed his stance to ease somewhat. He was still half expecting a demotion or some sort of punishment. It was only right for having such inappropriate thoughts.

"Forgive me," he breathed. He had meant it for God, for himself; for Madeleine, of course, but he hadn't planned on saying it aloud.

The mayor simply continued to smile, resting his hand on Javert's shoulder. "There is nothing to forgive," he murmured. Then, before Javert could ponder what to say next, he leaned in, leaving a small, chaste kiss on the corner of Javert's mouth. "Excuse me, Inspector." Then he was out the door and gone.

A good half a minute passed before Javert released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His fingers ran over the spot where Madeleine's lips had pressed against his skin — the area tingled with promise.