Javert's world came into focus slowly as though a black veil was being lifted from over his eyes. White walls, a clean, sterile smell so different from the smell of rotting garbage and dirty bodies that enveloped the streets of Paris. His memory was hazy at best and his brow furrowed as he tried to summon up the last thing could recall before he ended up here. He'd been at the barricade in disguise, the little brat Gavroche had ratted him out. They were going to kill him the leader had given the gun to….
Valjean! Suddenly it all flooded back. Being alone with the criminal in the alleyway littered with the fallen students. The gleam of the knife as it was revealed, the steel caressing his wrists quickly, only to pull away again. The pain had never come. Valjean had freed him and looking into the ex-prisoner's face Javert had realized that Valjean looked unbelievably tired. It was not the angry, hard, face of the prisoner, the animal, Javert had known in Toulon. It was the face of a man who had been running his whole life and didn't want to run anymore. And in that moment Javert felt his tidy, ordered world collapse around him.
The rest was unimportant. Javert remembered of course. He had gone to the bridge overlooking the river, looked into the dark water below. It seemed to be beckoning him, tempting him to leave the troubles of the world behind and fall into it's cold embrace. Javert had been sorely tempted and for the first time in his life he gave in to it and fell. And that, he had assumed, would be the end of it.
A sudden coughing fit made him lean over the side of his bed (since when had he been in a bed?) and expel some of the river water that clogged his lungs. His throat burned as he began to breath again proving beyond a doubt that he was in fact alive.
He looked around taking in his surrounding again now that things had come into focus a bit more. He was in a hospital in a bed. His police uniform had been removed and he lay in a dry white gown at least a size too small for him. An unpleasant frown blackened Javert's face. He had no clue who would have had the desire to save him for his watery grave but who ever it was was sure to be disappointed. With great effort he pulled himself out of bed, planning to walk out of this confounded place and right back to the river where he should rightfully be resting now. That had been the plan anyways, in reality he stood shakily for perhaps 5 seconds before his legs buckled beneath him and he tumbled ungracefully to the floor.
Confused and somewhat embarrassed he attempted to stand once more. His right leg obeyed him well enough but his left leg merely hung there like a piece of meat. Javert mentally commanded it to move. It did not. Worried he tapped the top of his thigh with his hand. He could not feel it. Just as he was beginning to work himself into a panic the door opened and a man walked it.
"What on earth are you doing Inspector?" The man asked, bending to help him up. "You shouldn't be out of bed. The doctor said you might have some damage after being underwater so long. He said the lack of air might have affected your mind." Javert looked up, intent on telling the man that he could mind his own business before he had him arrested. He remembered then he had resigned from the force. This really was dreadfully embarrassing. As he looked up his jaw dropped and a snarl twisted his lips. He opened his mouth, a cry of "240601!" on his lips. Nothing happened. He blinked and tried again. Still no sounds left his mouth. One hand went to his throat, eyes wide in fear and confusion.
"Javert?" Valjean questioned a worried look in his brown eyes. Javert really did begin to panic then, gripping his hair tightly in his fists, his mouth moving furiously although no sounds resulted from the action. Javert could not speak.