Chapter I:
He balances precariously on the slippery parapet; light mist in the air around him as he stares longingly into the turbulent waters of the Seine. The river calls to him, he can feel it. It's urging him to fall into its sweet embrace, like a mother holding out her arms for her child to hide within after a particularly terrifying nightmare.
Clouds block out any light that may have shone from the stars. Even if they had been visible they would have been obscured by the fog that has settled around the streets.
As he stands on the parapet, looking around him, his mind is plagued by thoughts. Thoughts he has not allowed himself the luxury to affect him in the past. Javert wants to end the thoughts spinning around his head. This internal rebellion has been unleashed by a convict, of all people!
He pushes his damp bangs back from his forehead, giving his hands something to do as he stares down at the water.. The wings that used to stand still and sure behind his back, like those on a marble statue, tremble minutely, betraying his turmoiled thoughts.
The water calls to him, telling him to finally bring his mind to rest. He's exhausted in more ways than one. Body, mind, soul, everything.
Javert risks one last glance at the sky, looking for an answer. The lack of stars is answer enough for him. He turns back to the Seine and squares his shoulders, finally coming to a decision.
X
Valjean spares a glance to the window, expecting to see the Inspector standing there, but he's nowhere to be seen.
Valjean frowns. This isn't like him. If Javert was anything, he was reliable. Reliable to be where Valjean ended up; reliable to arrest someone who has broken the law; and reliable to show up on time. He has witnessed the latter two enough times in Montreuil-sur-Mer.
He's sure the Inspector has promised him that he would return to arrest Valjean. He knows he heard the man utter those words angrily at him, through clenched teeth.
His wings twitch and he remembers that he should probably relax them. He is an old man after all, he doesn't want them to be sore tomorrow. It will cause even more problems for him, ones that he doesn't quite have the time or patience to deal with currently.
When another hour passes and there is still no sign of Javert, Valjean grabs his coat and yanks it on . He leaves the house as fast as he possibly can, careful to make sure the door isn't slammed shut. It wouldn't do to have a neighbour or someone else waking up and enquiring about what he's doing out so late in the night. What could he even say if someone had asked? He shakes his head, now is not the time to think about things what will not be.
The streets are dangerous, Valjean has experienced the danger first hand. He knows the Inspector is a very capable man who would be able to take care of himself during such a turbulent time. But who knows what could have possibly befallen the man who has been chasing him for roughly the last decade of his life.
He rushes along the streets, avoiding the police wandering about. It wouldn't do to finally be arrested at this moment when he had one last thing to do. To make sure that Javert was okay. He knows it's ridiculous for him to be worried about that man but, he can't help the anxiety that grips him. Javert was almost killed earlier in the day, who is to say that he would not find himself in a similar situation again.
His feet bring him to the Pont au Change. It's deserted. A chilly wind blows softly, ruffling his feathers and making him wrap his wings closer around himself to stay warm. That's when something catches his eyes.
Resting atop the parapet, weighed down by something Valjean is unable to see, is a hat.
How odd, Valjean thinks. The hat must have been deliberately placed there as no lost hats appeared in such a manner as this one.
A shiver runs down Valjean's spine that leaves chills all over his body. Something compels him to peer over the parapet into the rolling waters of the Seine.
Something below catches his eyes. Whatever it is flails, causing an even greater disturbance to the water. He can't quite make out what's moving around down there, but something deep in his gut tells him this is not the natural course nature takes. This isn't a misfortunate animal whose life has reached its end. It's something darker and sadder, he's sure.
Suddenly bright white flashes briefly above the waves, a beacon in the black sky.
Valjean starts taking off his jacket before he has time to think. Somewhere in his mind, he's already registered that the mysterious, flailing thing in the water is a person. The quick flash of white above water could only be one thing, their wings.
Be briefly wonders how this individual could have possibly fallen into the Seine, but quickly pushes it down. They could be drowning at this moment, no, they are definitely drowning, Valjean is sure about it. There is no time to think about how they could have ended up in a situation such as this when their life is on the line.
Valjean quickly takes off his jacket and waistcoat and puts them next to the top hat resting serenely on the parapet.
The wind picks up and Valjean curses the weather. He is old, his wings are not as strong as they used to be. With the wind becoming stronger with each passing moment, he has a smaller chance of being able to fly to the person in the water, which is the quickest way to rescue them.
Kicking off his shoes as he races to the river side, Valjean prepares himself for the worse. The Seine is not a forgiving lady. When given the chance, she will pull the lost souls who have fallen into her arms down into her embrace, never letting go until there is no life left within them.
He hopes that this isn't the case with the unfortunate soul who has finally stopped struggling. It appears as if they have finally given up, the water pulling them down slowly.
Valjean wades into the water and submerges himself, using his wings to propel himself forward in order to get to the drowning individual faster. As soon as he is within arm's distance, he grabs their arm. Trying to swim up toward the surface, the man's - for surely it's a man for a woman could not be this thin and weigh so much - thick overcoat keeps on pulling them downwards once more. Valjean pulls the coat off of the man as fast as he is able to and doesn't look back as it slowly sinks downward.
He breaks the surface with a gasp and pulls the man to shore. The weight of their soaked wings combined starting to cause trouble for him. Valjean is strong, especially for a man his age, but there is only so much he is able to carry before he collapses.
When his feet are finally able to hit the bank, he lets out a breath of relief. The weight of the man including the increased weight of damp wings makes him sag, but Valjean vows to not rest until the man now draped over his back is no longer in danger of drowning.
Once he is finally free from the water, he gently places the man on the ground. The man's face is covered in dark hair and Valjean pushes it from his face in order to make sure he is still breathing. When the hair is gone from his face, Valjean startles. The unconscious face of Javert is what greets him.
Javert's skin is pale; his limbs motionless. Blood starts to ooze slowly from a wound on his head that Valjean is unable to see, most likely hidden by hair.
Valjean lowers his head over Javert's mouth to make sure the man is still breathing, and to his great relief, he feels small puffs of air on his ear. Not as strong as he would have hoped them to be, but strong enough to indicate that he might survive this ordeal.
For what can this whole situation be if not an ordeal? His adversary drowning in the Seine. A man who he has once believed to be immovable, like the ancient marble statues of Rome. But, Valjean thinks, marble can break under the right circumstances, can it not? Looking down at the unconscious inspector below him, Valjean knows that this is what has happened to the man. Something has broken him. Why else would he have ended up drowning in the river?
Gently prodding Javert's limbs, Valjean checks to see if anything is broken and should not be moved. Fortunately it seems that his legs and arms are not so injured that he should call for a doctor and leave the Inspector lying on the bank on his own, which he knows can only end terribly.
Luckily, the prodding only elicits small moans from Javert. Valjean knows not what this means, but he knows enough that he will be able to move the man to his home where he can rest. He hoists Javert over his shoulders, Javert's face resting in the damp feathers on his back. The journey to his house will not be easy, he knows. But it's something he must do.
With a nod to himself, Valjean starts his slow trek, Javert resting on his shoulders, essentially dead to the world.
A/N: You know when you have an idea for a fic you want to read, but no one to your knowledge has written anything with a similar premise? Well, that's what happened here. And, this task falls upon me. If I want to see this fic, then I'm going to have to be the one to write it. Hopefully the next chapter will be out relatively soon, but, I can't really promise anything.