DISCLAIMER: Technically, I could claim the LM copyright because Hugo died over a hundred years ago, but Javert would arrest me. This being said, I do not own Starbucks.
Summary: Javert and Valjean end up at a Starbucks. Donut-throwing, and chair-wielding ensues.
A/N: Javert is OOC. Get over it. Spaz!Javert is comedy. I got this idea from the Javert Shrine where it was number three on a list entitled 'Top Ten Places Javert Wouldn't Be Caught Dead At'. This fic is dedicated to Enjy-Glomper, who gave me the boost I needed to finish this! *squees in joy and tackles EG to the floor* THANK YOU SO MUCH!
"Rush"
Jean Valjean could not have been a more confused man. He stared up at the blackboard fastened to the wall, trying to discern what language was being used, but with little success. After all, he wasn't fluent in English or, in fact, informed in anything to do with the English at all. Yet here he was, standing in a strange building with most peculiar-looking people standing around, staring at him in a suspicious manner.
He found it most odd indeed.
"No, you imbecile! I wish for a piece of white bread! White bread!" came an angry voice from beside him. Valjean didn't bother looking towards the source, for he knew of only one individual who could raise such a ruckus. "What is that?" shrieked Javert, jumping back suddenly. "Get that thing out of my face!" The gangly youth behind the counter grumbled and retracted his arm, which was holding a Black Forest brownie. Valjean wondered briefly exactly how he had been swayed to come to this establishment in the first place.
The two were in a Starbucks, ordering coffee, but so far their visit was not going as planned.
Already, the good Inspector had attempted to arrest three people for being dressed indecently, several more for outrageous public displays of affection, and was making yet another scene in the ordering line, this time madly ranting in French to a sordid-looking adolescent with greasy hair. Valjean wondered if perhaps it would be better to simply leave Javert in the store and pretend that he had no affiliation with him.
Valjean took a small sip of his mocha and pushed the brim of his faded gray hat down in an attempt to become less visible.
Javert, meanwhile, was now standing at the register.
"What? What are you saying? I can't understand your damnable language!" snapped the Inspector angrily. He gave his ex-convict companion a shove with the hand holding an iced cinnamon latte.
"Do you understand any of this, 24601?" he asked with a snarl. Valjean rolled his eyes.
"Unfortunately, Javert, I do not. To tell you the truth I don't even know where we are, just that we were dragged here by some rather odd-looking young people and told to order foodstuffs inside. I was suggested to get a mocha and a chai." Javert spat on the floor.
"Mocha and a chai!" he repeated in disbelief. In truth, Javert had absolutely no idea what the significance the 'mocha' and 'chai' were, but he would rather look intelligent than stupid in front of 24601. Valjean peered over the Inspector's shoulder to the youth, who was impatiently waiting for the ponytailed policeman to take some notice in his outstretched hand, which, this time, was empty.
"Perhaps he wants money," suggested Valjean, in response to Javert's earlier query. Javert broke out of his cloud of confusion, and gave him a hardened look.
"I know he wants money," growled the Inspector. "But I don't have any of the money he wants! They won't accept French monies."
"Can we buy on credit?" Valjean tried again. Javert raised a bushy eyebrow.
"You would ask Javert to buy a meal for an ex-convict on credit?" he said incredulously. Valjean swore he saw the Inspector's sideburns bristle in horror. "I will buy this meal for me only!" The unmistakable cry of offense reigned supreme in the Inspector's tone.
Valjean gave a small sigh. "Either you buy for both of us or I share your latte." Javert's eyes widened as he hunched around his latte protectively.
"You wouldn't dare!" he exclaimed. Valjean shrugged. Javert straightened himself up, and turned around sourly. "Look here, you miserable gamin!" he yelled, slamming both hands on the counter in front of him. "Do you know who I am? I am Javert, Inspector of Paris, former guard of the chain-gang at Toulon, merciless hunter of convict number 24601! You will allow me to purchase this food, whether you like it or not!" He shoved a franc into the youth's hand. The youth gave a sigh.
"Look man," he said in English. "I don't speak French, I don't accept currency that isn't from the states, and I don't like nutjobs who cause trouble. You can't pay, you can't eat." He gave a shrug. Jean Valjean, who had absolutely no idea as to what message the youth was trying to convey, simply gave Javert a blank look. Javert, on the other hand, was fuming. He roughly grabbed the youth by his collar, and pulled him up to face height.
"Listen, you little ingrate," hissed Javert. "I demand you let us leave with our food! If you continue to resist, I will drag you down to the station by your hair and throw you in lock-up!" Suddenly, the Inspector felt himself being pushed aside. A young woman sat a green piece of paper on the counter in front of Javert. She gave him an irritated look, and walked away. Valjean reached under Javert's death grip to retrieve it. The Inspector caught him by the arm and shot him a glower. "I don't think so, 24601," he said icily. "You won't be stealing anything more on my watch." Jean Valjean gave an amused smile.
"As you wish, Javert," he responded. Javert let go of the youth and snatched the green paper up, and thrust it towards the youth. Without waiting for the change, he grabbed Valjean's arm and dragged him to an empty spot in the corner.
Valjean sat down quietly, and contently took a sip of his mocha. The Inspector gave a grumble and swept off his top hat and his greatcoat, laying both on the chair beside him carefully. He sat down, eyeing the occupants of the store, and took a long, slow sip of his iced latte.
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
Javert admitted it was nice having a quiet moment; an interlude in the chase of 24601 was sorely needed, especially after eight or so years of chasing the man. Oh, the irony of sitting next to the object of his hunt, casually enjoying (Was he? Was he actually enjoying this strange beverage?) a refreshment. He took another deep gulp of his drink. The flavor lingered on his tongue as the unfamiliar yet tasty liquid tumbled down his throat. He felt a buzzing in his head, and rubbed his forehead gently. Javert swayed a little and caught Valjean's eye as he regained his balance. The ex-convict gave him a curious look but then went back to drinking his mocha. Javert now had a feeling of semi-weightlessness. His mind seemed to be pacing around his skull impatiently, as if waiting for something. He tried to ignore it, and went back to enjoying his drink.
'Another question', the police inspector thought, while taking another deep drink from his latte. 'is exactly how did we get here in the first place? I remember walking along the Rue de la Barrière-des-Gobelins and seeing Valjean. I followed him to his home, (number seven, I think) but when I confronted him in the parlor and led him out, it appeared that we were no longer in Paris. What could have possibly happened?'
His thinking was interrupted, however, by Jean Valjean of all people.
The ex-convict drained the rest of his mocha, and sat it on the table daintily, wiping his hands on a napkin and getting up to throw his trash away. As he got to his feet, he felt his elbow bump against his untouched chai, and knocked it over. The chai clattered to the table. The top broke off, and chai tea splashed all over Javert's coat and hat. Valjean's eyes widened, and Javert thought he felt something in his mind snap. The Inspector gave him a look that would damn him to hell, if that were possible.
"You…you spilled your drink…all over my CLOTHES!" roared Javert, jumping up on the table. Valjean paled slightly.
"I assure you, Javert, that it was an accident; I in no way meant to-"
"THOSE WERE EXPENSIVE!" bellowed Javert, and swung his fist at Valjean, who ducked and jumped out of the Inspector's reach. "My hat, my favorite hat…ruined! And my coat! It's going to be weeks until I get the smell out!" The Inspector continued to gaze furiously at Valjean.
"Javert," said Valjean, slowly. "Calm down, please. It will do neither of us any good to get mad."
"Oh, I've gone past mad!" yelled Javert. "We passed mad several years ago! Now I'm utterly furious!" With that, he grabbed the nearest item to him, which was a napkin holder and hurled it at Valjean. The older man ducked once again, and made a move to grab Javert.
"I mean it, Javert, calm down!"
"GET OFF ME!" roared Javert, grabbing Valjean's hand and hurling the bulky man over his shoulder into the counter. Several patrons screamed, and people began running about madly. Valjean jumped up and ducked yet anther incoming object, which happened to be a salt shaker. It burst open when it hit the counter and salt sprinkled the older man's hair.
Valjean began trying to move closer to the Inspector while trying to avoid being clobbered with random objects. He successfully managed to avoid being hit by a chair, another salt shaker, a fistful of straws, a table, a root beer, and a hat.
He had just dodged the wrath of Javert's nightstick before he finally got close enough to pounce on the furious policeman. Javert gave an angry yell as Valjean tackled him to the floor.
"If you know what's good for you…" Javert began. He trailed off as he saw Valjean raise a fist. Javert brought the nightstick down upon the former convict's head. Valjean made a odd noise that sounded like a cross between a squeak and a strangled cough. He collapsed onto the Inspector ungracefully, causing Javert to wheeze in pain. With a disgusted grunt, he pushed Valjean off. Getting up, he decided life would be better off if he just left this cursed establishment.
He donned his hat, and folded his sodden greatcoat over his arm. Picking up his latte, he made his way towards the door, trying to screen out the shouting employees and the panicked patrons. He had barely gripped the handle when he was aware of a yellowish muck hitting the window beside him. Whipping around, Javert found Valjean charging at him again.
"Will you ever cease?!" cried Javert, jumping on top of one of the little tables.
"I will once you calm down!" said Valjean.
"NEVER!"
Valjean sighed. "Javert, you're being irrational!"
"Irrational?! I'LL SHOW YOU IRRATIONAL!"
Valjean jumped behind the counter as Javert threw a tray at him. "Of all the crimes you have committed, I have not seen one so heinous as this one! Your audacity amazes me!"
"Javert!" protested Valjean "I spilled tea on your coat!"
"My FAVORITE coat!" screeched the Inspector, who had leaped over to the soda machine and was now launching paper cups out of the dispenser at the hiding convict.
"I'll pay for the damages, I swear!" said Valjean desperately. This caused another chair to come flying behind the counter.
"You will pay with your life!" said Javert in a sing-song voice. Valjean almost snickered, but low-fat sugar packets began raining hell down upon him.
The ex-convict sighed in despair. "Oh dear," he muttered. Having had enough, he rose from his hiding spot. Javert froze in mid-throw, a patron's purse dangling behind him. His black eyes narrowed.
"Given up, have you?" he growled. Valjean rolled his eyes.
"I must say, my dear Inspector, I had no idea you had this bad a temperament."
"I wouldn't have had this bad a temperament if you hadn't spilled your wretched drink on my coat," Javert spat. "And do not EVER call me 'dear' again."
"How can we settle this?" asked Valjean, ignoring his last statement (and the irony of the purse he was holding). He hoped to appeal to Javert's law-abiding side. It worked, for the Inspector's countenance took on an expression of mild amusement.
"The convict asks for a settlement," he mocked, dropping the purse. "How typical. Very well, 24601! We shall settle this with a duel!"
"With what?"
Javert looked around. "With…THESE!" Javert whipped up a chair with surprising speed. Valjean gave him a blank look.
"You…can't be serious."
"Accusing Javert of joking? ANOTHER LAW BROKEN!"
"That's a law?"
"A moral one, yes."
Valjean sighed again, and picked up a chair.
"Now, we shall settle this, convict! ENGARDE!" Javert charged at Valjean swinging his chair to the left side of Valjean's head. Valjean guarded, and flipped his chair, throwing off Javert's chair and allowing the bottom leg to hit the Inspector in the face. With a grunt of pain, Javert brought down his chair over Valjean's head and then pushed forward. Valjean stumbled backwards and leaned backwards over the counter. Javert pushed into him, eyes burning with a mad fury. Valjean took this opportunity to swipe at his knee with his left foot. It connected; Javert's right knee buckled and he went down. Valjean brought the back of the chair down on Javert's head, and the Inspector gave a howl of pain. Valjean then tossed his chair aside, and grabbed Javert by his collar. With a roar, he threw the Inspector over the counter, and into the coffee machine. It burst as Javert hit it. He slumped to the floor unconscious as hot coffee poured on him. Valjean sank to his knees as he regained his breath from the fight.
At least Javert had given him some repose. Valjean gripped his sides as a wave of pain ran through him. The blow the Inspector had given him must have done more damage than he thought. He propped an elbow on the floor and breathed painfully for a few minutes. Valjean had to admit, however, that it was a good shot; the leg had hit the upper part of his ribs, and knocked the wind out of the older man. Javert may have left the force, but he still had it in him.
Valjean's internal praise was cut short as a shadow rose in front of him.
The ex-convict let out a groan.
"Oh no…"
"VALJEAN." The voice came out like ice. Turning around and looking up, said convict found himself staring once again into the eyes of Inspector Javert. He was dripping in coffee, and had a very put-out look on his face. Valjean continued to stare blankly at him. For the moment, it appeared as he was safe; the dark-haired Inspector looked as though he had sobered some.
"Valjean," began Javert again. "I…I apologize."
"Well, that took you long enough," replied Valjean. Javert gave him a cutting look.
"I do not give out apologies as easily as I do arrests, 24601," he said coldly. "Do well to remember."
"I will make a mental note," said Valjean, continuing to scan Javert in case he decided to take another dive at him. The soaking Inspector came out from behind the counter, and stood stiffly, almost ashamedly in front of Valjean.
"Do you mind me asking why you found it necessary to attack me so abrasively?"
Javert looked up with a sneer. "You assume I did that of my own free will."
Valjean looked taken aback. "That would be a logical explanation," he said slowly. "I cannot see another reason why you would've done such a thing otherwise."
"I was possessed!" Javert said, eyes widening, hands clutching the air in front of him. "It was like…like a demon took hold of my conscience!"
"I thought you weren't religious."
"I'm not!" Javert snapped. "But that's precisely what it felt like!"
"And you would know how?"
Javert glared at him. "It's a euphemism." Valjean tried to hide a smirk. "Don't look at me like that!"
"You have never had sweet tea, Javert?"
"Never." Javert cringed. "It is disgusting and frivolous."
Valjean let his smirk show unabashedly. "Well, if you had, you would know that putting a large amount of sugar into tea makes you feel unnaturally alert and gives you a shorter attention span. This coffee appears to have a similar effect, only it has about four times the amount of sugar that one usually puts into sweet tea."
"How do you know that?" Javert asked.
"I saw them add the sugar in."
Javert's expression showed a mixture of horror, confusion, curiosity, and amusement. "So what you're telling me is…that I consumed too much sugar?" he asked, eyes wildly confused. Valjean smiled.
"You didn't know. It was bound to happen, if it didn't happen now. It was, perhaps, a little more explosive than the usual person's reaction, but…"
"I…don't drink sweet things," said the Inspector, turning his gaze to the floor. Valjean noted a slight reddish tinge to his cheeks.
"You haven't built up a tolerance to it yet. Don't be so hard on yourself." Javert snorted.
"The irony of this situation escapes you, I see."
Valjean seemed not to hear. He looked around. The shop was now deserted; all the patrons and employees had fled in terror. Tables were overturned, coffee was all over the floor, various odds and ends were everywhere. Napkins were pasted on the wall, the ceiling, and the floor, coffee cups were upset, and personal possessions were still at tables. The food display was shattered and the windows were covered in doughnut custard.
"…I have never felt this embarrassed in my entire life," said Javert, his face now a dark shade of red. Valjean continued to stare at the mess.
"It's going to take a while to clean this mess up," he confirmed. "Perhaps if we start now, the owners won't be as angry with us." Javert grunted in agreement.
"I suppose," he muttered. "But before we began-" Valjean turned to face him. Javert paused, and then took a long, hearty drink of his latte, which he had been holding ever since he tried to go out the door.
"Do you think I could get another one of these?"