There was time to do little else except retrieve the fallen boy and bring him back behind the barricade. Shots were firing, and it was clear the barricade would fall within moments. The young men were fighting bravely, but they were dropping. Those who gave up the fight met with locked doors when they turned to the people for help. They were giving their lives trying to improve those of others, but no one was willing to return that.
When the fighting was over, Javert searched the barricade. There were no survivors that he could see. A chill went through him. These bodies had once held the souls of school boys. They'd been revolutionaries, and he'd once seen them as traitors to their country. Now he couldn't make himself think of them that way. He had a heart of stone, but not even stone could be unmoved by such a sight. He hadn't shed a tear since he was a very young child, but he felt his eyes sting now. Why? He couldn't understand it. Those same boys would have ended his life.
"You'd have done the same, Inspector, if we'd let you have your chance." The words rang in his head.
He wouldn't have killed him. He was a policeman, not an executioner. Yet he would have brought them to court, proud of having done his job well. It was almost certain that had their leader been taken alive, he'd have been executed . Life as galley slaves would likely have awaited the others. He told himself they deserved no better than that. They were traitors, after all. Criminals. They represented everything he'd fought against his whole life.
Even so, he couldn't help thinking of a little boy, born in jail. He'd never gotten to know his father. Until now he'd never regretted that. Why would he want to be on close terms with a thief, even if they did share blood? Now, seeing that a former thief was such a good man, he wondered if his father had been so different. His mother had been a gypsie whore. Another woman almost ten years before had been forced into prostitution, eventually dying for her child. He hadn't believed her claims at the time, but now he knew there was a child as she'd said. What if his own mother had done what she did out of desperation rather than wickedness? He couldn't stop himself from wondering how his life might have been different had there been a revolution back then.
He wiped away the wet streaks with the back of his hand, and continued checking the bodies. He didn't see ValJean's among them, which had been the main reason he was searching. The other reason was to confirm all the revolutionaries were dead. If any were alive, it was his job to bring them in. He would do that. He'd no longer take pleasure in it, but he told himself he must still do his duty.
Javert was nearly convinced that wouldn't be anything he'd have to worry about when he saw a body much smaller than the others. He recognized the boy who had told the others who he was. He should have hated that boy more than any of the others for that reason. Yet his death horrified him most of all. He was only a little boy, just a child. No child should have their life taken from them so soon.
His horrified stare turned to a look of relief when he saw the boy's hand move. At first he told himself perhaps the hand had only slid on it's own, but then the child's head tilted a little. He was alive!
Lifting him would cause him more pain, but he would certainly die if he were left there. As carefully as possible he picked him up.
"Gavroche?" He was surprised to hear himself use the name he'd heard his friends call him.
"Taire?" he asked. He couldn't make the name completely heard, but Javert knew he must think one of his friends was holding him. Better to let him think that. He slipped back into unconsciousness, but thankfully continued to breath.
There were no hospitals in that section of Paris, and there was no chance for him if he didn't see a doctor. It would be a long walk, but Javert set out carrying him. He was passing the opening of a sewer when he saw two figures emerge. One looked like he was already dead, but the other wouldn't give up on getting him to safety. The living one looked at him, and Javert knew instantly who he was even if he was covered in filth. ValJean was about to say something when he noticed Gavroche in Javert's arms.
"Is he..?"
"Alive? Barely, but yes."
"You're not going to-"
"I'm not about to murder a child," Javert sharply cut off his question.
"Then please-" he looked to the boy he'd had to carry through the sewers. "He's only a boy himself. He's too young to have his life end yet. Let me get him help. I've told you where I live. I won't run, I swear it."
"Take him then!" Javert snapped, not taking time to notice the expression of relief.
Making his way to a main road, he flagged down a passing carriage.
"To the hospital as fast as you can." It was only after they were in the carriage that he thought to take the revolutionary pin off the boy's cap. No one could know how he'd really been shot. He decided to let them think it had been in some robbery gone wrong or something.
That was the first time since picking Gavroche up that he stopped to think what he was doing. He was trying to save the life of someone the law said should be punished. He was hiding evidence and planning on lying to do it. Besides which, he had let a convict escape with another rebel. Why had he done that? He should have arrested him on the spot.
What could he do? For the first time he'd have to go against the law to do what was right. The very idea of breaking the law made him feel ill. Whatever he did now he'd be a criminal himself, either by God's laws or man's.
He came close to changing his mind several times on the way to the hospital. It would be simple. Go to the police station instead, hand Gavroche to them, and then go arrest ValJean. He's so nearly decided on it he was surprised when they stopped at the hospital instead. Hadn't he already given the other instructions?
Steadying himself, he carried Gavroche inside. If he was doomed to be a criminal, it would at least be without further blood on his hands.
"Inspector Javert," the doctor looked startled to see him. "What's happened and who is this boy?"
"I was investigating a robbery and found him. I believe he was injured in the crossfire." The lie stuck in his throat.
"Where are his parents?"
"I don't know, but I suggest you get to work. Any delay and someone will be informing them their son is dead." He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. Couldn't they see the child could die at any moment?
"But sir, someone will have to pay-"
"You can worry about that later. Keep in mind you'll get nothing if he dies before you do anything for him."
That, mixed with the fear everyone had of Javert whether they'd broken the law or not, set things in motion. Gavroche was taken into a room, the door to which was shut after him. The inspector hesitated a moment, unsure of whether or not to stay. Finally he went back outside, wandering aimlessly as he argued with himself.
It wasn't until he stood on a bridge that he realized where he was. The rushing water beneath seemed to call to him. For many hours now he had tried to find a way to do what was right in regards to ValJean. He couldn't live in the debt of a thief. The debt would have to be repaid. But the only way to do that would be to let him go. Impossible.
He thought back to when he'd asked to be dismissed when he believed he'd falsely accused the mayor. He'd thought he'd failed in his duties then, and now he had. Both against God and the law. When one failed one's superior, one resigned. There was only one way he could think of to resign from God. Those who faltered and fell must pay the price. Yet- the image of Gavroche came to mind. Was taking his own life punishment enough? Besides, suicide was an unforgivable sin. A priest would likely talk him out of something he didn't want to be talked out of, but maybe he could do penance in a way before his sin. Something to make up for it.
Who knew if that doctor would take care of that boy? Even if Gavroche recovered, it would be some time before he was up to taking care of himself. With no payment,the hospital wouldn't keep him long. That would be his penance then, to make sure Gavroche survived. Then he would see to his final punishment. It was so little to make up for things, but it felt right.
He made his way back to the hospital, and found Gavroche there as he'd left him. Miraculously, he was still alive. Nothing whatsoever had been done.
"You intend to simply let the child die?" Javert demanded.
'Sir, you must understand. He's obviously a boy from the streets. We have paying clients who-"
"I will pay his bills if that's what it takes, but I want him to have the best care possible."
So Gavorche had the bullets in him removed, his wounds cleaned and dressed. Javert went and bought clean clothes for him. For him to stay in what he was wearing would be asking for infection. Likely the boy would protest, but he wouldn't be up to arguing for a while. He did his best to choose something as simple and comfortable as possible before returning to the hospital.
He sat beside the boy's bed for some time before Gavroche opened his eyes. The look on the child's face was one of mixed surprise and hate.
"Relax now. You're safe here."
"You! I thought you were dead. Why didn't you just shoot me? Death to each and every traitor, remember?"
Javert felt himself wince at hearing his own words.
"That didn't apply to children."
"I was big enough to get you caught. I'm one of them, the same as any of the others. Vive le Republic!"
Javert would never have thought someone who'd been so near death hours before could raise his voice so loudly. He'd also have thought Gavroche would have more sense. Was he trying to get himself caught? Quickly he shoved his hand over the boy's mouth, only to feel it bitten hard. Anyone else would have yelled out, but Javert knew how to deal with it. His childhood in prison had taught him to fight. All he had to do was pinch Gavroche's nose until he had to open his mouth to breathe. Temporarily defeated, the boy lay back. He found the energy to spit in Javert's direction before sleep claimed him again.
The boy was fighting him, but being able to fight at all was a good sign. Javert took it as a sign the boy would recover soon.