A/N: Hello y'all! So here is the second story in my Les Miserables parable series! :D I want to specifically thank Ani-maniac, Katherine NotGreat, and Darkover for their encouragement and interest in the continuation of this story series. You guys are awesome! I know there were others who expressed an interest in reading the next story in this series back after The Great Banquet was first published and I want to thank you guys too. :) I hope ya'll enjoy this two-part installment.

This is not beta'd so please forgive any mistakes or errors.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing.

The Good Samaritan

by Noelani618

Summary: Javert has fled from the banquet hall into the darkness of the night. In the darkness, he reflects and then has a run-in vicious quartet of thieves.

Part 1

Javert fled.

He fled from the banquet hall with the lively singing and dancing and feasting. He fled from the mayor with his strong hands and terrible understanding. He fled from the illegitimate child with hopeful eyes and an innocent heart. He fled from the fallen woman with shorn hair, missing teeth, and burning words.

Not since he was a boy had he run so. He tore through the night, blind to where he was going, knowing only that he must flee. The world blurred around him.

"Thank you, Lord, for your mercy. Thank you for Jesus whose blood washed me, a sinner, clean."

The words stabbed him in the stomach, urging him on. How could he have not understood after all these years? How had he been so blind?

I wonder—do you also believe yourself unworthy?

Unworthy was far too kind a word for what he was; for how underserving.

He ran faster.

If asked, Javert could not have explained why he was running. Perhaps it was instinct or shame or fear. Maybe it was all those things. What did it matter? Running was foolish. There was nowhere to run, he knew. But he ran nonetheless.

Without warning, his legs gave out, sending him crashing to the ground.

Stunned by the impact, Javert's mind went blank. He rolled over onto his back, chest heaving. For a while he laid there, the ache in his muscles and burn of his lungs overtaking everything, preventing any thought from forming. He stared up at the vast canvas of starry heavens above without seeing. It was only when the sweat dried on his face and he felt the cool breeze that he came back to himself.

He was at the edge of town, on the path above the old ramparts. A glance confirmed the docks were to the left, about a half mile away. His mouth twisted in a grimace. Ironic he should find himself so close to the place where his undoing began.

Unsteadily, Javert pushed up into a seated position. He could not go back, could not face the mayor or…her.

Slowly, painfully, he crawled to the edge of the rampart and swung his legs over the edge. He stared at the muddy grass field below. It was all that was left of the old moat from years ago when Montreuil was a major part of the defense of the country's western border. Now the moat was mostly forgotten due to the reinforced walls and bastion. Scant starlight lightened it only barely, creating long shapes and purple shadows.

His hat was on the ground a few inches away. Clasping it, he brought it to his lap, fingering the white ribbon for a moment before twisting the hat back to its proper shape. A boulder seemed to have settled on his chest.

How did it come to this? Javert had never dreamed, never imagined anything else in his life beyond his duty to uphold the law. It was his world, his everything. Now his duty lay in tatters at his feet. The law he believed himself a servant was washed away like chalk on a chalk board. A great chasm had opened beneath his feet: black, gaping, and terrifying. He was falling, falling without a prayer of not being swallowed whole. There was no rope or chain; no ledge or crevice; no reaching hand. No, there was nothing to save him.

Javert trembled. Hadn't he always known he would fall? Had he not always feared it, knowing the day would come when the wickedness he was born of would overcome him? For all that, he had never once thought the law to which he had chained himself to prevent his fall would prove to be made of sand and not stone. He never thought everything he believed would turn out to be wrong.

The leather encasing his hands grew taut, his fingers curled as he dug them into his short hair.

"The Lord said, Thine eye shall not pity, but life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, and foot for foot. That is justice according to the law.* If you don't want to stay here behind bars with your mother, boy, you'll remember that."

The man who had spoken those words to a five-year-old Javert was the sentry overseeing his mother's prison sentence. It was one of many words of wisdom the guard had imparted to the child Javert. Like the bars on the door and the coldness of his mother's touch, the guard was one of his early constants; the example of life on the other side of the bars. And Javert had taken those lessons to heart.

If he was to be of worth, he must take the only path open to him and become an enforcer of the law and not a rebel like his parents. His denouncement of Mayor Madeleine, however, had thrown all that into disarray.

Javert cursed prisoner 24601—that man called Jean Valjean—for breaking parole, for haunting his memory. Why did Mayor Madeleine have to remind him of that old convict? For the few similarities there were there were also immense and pointed differences; differences he once believed to be false fronts and now he understood to be genuine. He supposed it had been easier to think M. Madeleine was Jean Valjean because it seemed impossible the man was as kind and generous as he was.

He still recalled in horrifying detail his apology and demand for dismissal for his spying. Mayor Madeleine had refused, saying Javert had only done his duty and he would not see him punished for it. When Javert had explained that the mayor must be as harsh on him as he was on others for justice to be upheld, the mayor had rebuked him.

"The justice you demand would in fact be an injustice, Inspector. You were doing you duty, nothing more. If I was that man you believed me to be, you would not be in the wrong. You would rather, I think, be commended for your vigilance by your superiors and peers. Is that not so? How then, can you demand me to dismiss you when such an act could also earn you acclamation? No, I will not dismiss you. I hold you in high regard and this does not change it; rather it elevates my good opinion. Few men would come forward to admit such a deed. Return to your post, Monsieur le Inspector."

Reeling, taken aback, Javert had left when the mayor dismissed him, still very much in possession of his job and public dignity but at a complete loss as to what had happened in the mayor's office. He took to watching the mayor with an honest curiosity after that, unable to break his old pattern of watching the man wherever he went. On some levels, he had been suspicious, thinking perhaps the mayor sought to hold Javert's fault over him, but the mayor was not that sort of man. It had been difficult to accept. It still was.

While you may not see your worth I do. I chose you, Javert, to be my guest as I have chosen to ask the unfortunate to come and feast with me.

He flinched. How the mayor could accept him as a guest, treat him with kindness he was undeserving of was beyond him. Once Javert had said it was easy to be kind and hard to be just. Considering everything, Javert found he doubted that sentiment. Was it easy to be kind? Javert had never been kind. For him, it had always been about justice, about punishing wrong doers. Eye for an eye was his creed. Any wrong committed against him personally had been swiftly answered with the sword of justice.

Mayor Madeleine did not see it that way. He believed in mercy, in kindness towards all, whether they were rich or poor or lawbreaker or spy.

Once, a couple weeks ago, Javert had dared to ask the mayor why.

It was a cold night, and Javert had been finishing his patrol when he bumped into the mayor who was out walking. The older man had promptly invited Javert to his home for some hot tea and a few minutes by the fire. Normally, Javert would have refused, but the mayor had been insistent and quite frankly he had no reason to decline. So Javert had agreed and walked with the mayor to his home.

They were sitting in front of a large fire in the mayor's small sitting room, drinking tea, discussing the town, when Javert asked his question.

Mayor Madeleine had smiled that familiar sad smile and went and picked up a thick black book with a red ribbon in it.

"Because of this book, Inspector."

It was a Bible. While it was not entirely surprising given Javert had observed the man attending mass without fail, he did not understand the importance of the book itself. Reading was not a task Javert relished. As such, he had never bothered to read that particular book, instead relying on the priests to tell him the details. There were more important things for him to do. And while outwardly he was a proper church attending man, he had never taken the belief to heart. How could he? He was not welcome within the church doors until he became a guard. It was merely something he did to fill the requirements of his position.

But Mayor Madeleine had regarded the black leather bound book with a strange expression, one Javert found difficult to place. It seemed to be a mixture of sadness, wonder, and adoration. He had recalled only seeing one priest from his younger days regard the Bible with such rapture. The convicts had torn him apart and left his body rotting on the rocks.

"Does not the Lord demand justice against all those who break His commandments?" he had asked.

"Yes, He does. For the Lord is righteous and cannot abide sin."

"Then I do not understand how that book led you to believe in mercy, monsieur, for it was the Lord who commanded eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth."

"If I may, Inspector, I shall read from the Word and answer your question."

Javert had nodded hesitantly, a seed of curiosity planted in his belly.

Mayor Madeleine had flipped open the Bible, turning the pages with the confidence of great familiarity. "Ah, here it is." Then, in a quiet, reverent voice more befitting a prayer, M. Madeleine had read, "But because of his great love for us,God, who is rich in mercy,made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved."**

The mayor had looked up. "I do not put mercy above justice, Inspector, but nor will I put justice above mercy. The Lord is just, and yet He showed me, and the world, infinite mercy by sending His Son to die for our sins. How can I do any less when I have been so greatly pardoned?"

"That's ridiculous," he had declared, angered. "Mercy prevents justice from being fulfilled and the guilty paying for their crimes. It lets criminals go free so they may commit more crimes, oftentimes worse than before!"

"For some," M. Madeleine had conceded, "that is undoubtedly true. However, there are those who, upon being shown mercy, may change. Would you condemn them all then, even when there are some who may become righteous?"

Javert had snapped, "Men do not change, monsieur, not even when given the chance. They abhor righteousness and could never hope to regain it after giving it up when breaking the law. That is how I judge them and know them to be."

He had said this with the proud air of a man certain of himself and his views, confidence fed by the debauchery and wickedness he had witnessed his whole life. Javert, born to such wretchedness, had raised himself up through determination and will, fighting the stigmas against his race and conducting himself in a manner that was irreproachable. He had remembered the priest whose poor corpse was nigh unrecognizable by the time the guards reached him. No, he had been confident in his assessment.

Mayor Madeleine reply had been thoughtful. "In St. Paul's letter to the Romans, he wrote, 'For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.'*** No one is righteous, not one. In this, we all fail. It is only by the Lord's grace in Jesus that a man may become righteous. And even a righteous man may stumble. Look at King David! He was perhaps one of the greatest kings the Jews ever had, yet he was also an adulterer, murderer, and thief. Yet the Lord forgave him and cleansed him of his sins. God proclaimed David to be a man after His own heart even! You see, Inspector, mercy is a gift to all humanity. It is our choice whether or not to accept it and be renewed. But how can a man know it is his to have if it is never offered?"

It would not do to be slack jawed like a ninny but it had been close. Instead, Javert had gritted his teeth and glared at the floor as he had tried to find the words to answer. The mayor's explanation was not what he had been expecting and it contained a far more intimate knowledge of the Holy Book then Javert had, or had ever had a desire to have.

Patiently, the mayor had waited for him to respond. Finally, Javert had flatly stated, "So you're saying that when a man commits a crime he should go unpunished. That's absurd and would lead to anarchy!"

"No," the mayor had answered, shaking his head, "I'm saying that grace and mercy need to be considered in tandem with justice. Mercy does not stop justice, Javert. It can only divert its course. The mercy we are shown is a result of the Christ's death on the cross. Justice was fulfilled that day when He took all the sins of the world—past, present, and future—upon himself and died a human death. King David may have been forgiven by God for his sins, but that did not prevent him from experiencing the repercussions of his actions."

"Like the prostitute you showed mercy on?" Javert sneered.

Mayor Madeleine had remained serene. "Fantine needed to be shown grace, and not just for her sake but for Cosette's. And she is suffering for her choices, Inspector. She is sick and from what the doctor tells me she will never fully recover. It is a miracle she has lived this long, considering her illness."

The older man had fallen silent, attention shifting to the tea in his hand. The serenity had given way to sadness and guilt. In the flickering firelight, it had deepened the lines on M. Madeleine's face to canyons. He had looked terribly old and worn.

"So she will die," Javert had said, satisfied and yet not. While it was a justice of sorts, it was not the justice demanded by the law. The mayor had slowly turned his head and hazel eyes had pinned Javert to his seat.

"Yes."

Javert's stomach somehow had landed in his feet. What moments ago had seemed like a victory for justice had rapidly soured and tasted more like utter defeat.

M. Madeleine broke their locked gazes, closing the Bible and rising to return it to its place in-between two old silver candlesticks on the mantle. With his back to the room and Javert, the mayor recited in a quiet voice Javert barely heard: "Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life has set me free from the law of sin and of death."****

Javert had not known how to respond. His mind had been spinning, overwhelmed and saturated in confusion and anger.

The silence had been heavy and Javert had hastily taken his leave. She was happy. He avoided the mayor after that, unwilling to be near the man whose words made Javert's very foundation shudder. To make it worse, he still did not understand the mayor's vast capacity for kindness and charity toward the undeserving. Coupled together, they had left Javert incensed and frustrated. After the first week, his anger had cooled to indifference. Mayor Madeleine was his superior and would believe and act as he chose to. It was none of Javert's affair unless the mayor broke the law. Then the banquet had turned that indifference on its head.

When he saw that woman earlier tonight…she had been walking and smiling. She was happy. Fantine may be dying, but somehow she was at peace. It made no sense, even with her child by her side. Surely the thought of leaving her child behind when she died would make her miserable! Yet it did not seem to bother her at all.

There was a hole in the knee of his pants. He poked the spot lightly and winced. The beige edges of the tear were darkened and he wondered if it was from the dirt or if it were blood. Probably both. He looked at his gloved hands. The worn leather was not torn, but it was scratched and flecked with mud. Slowly, he peeled them off. His hands were red and raw inside, but the skin was unbroken. It was merely exposed. Like him.

Hypocrite. Liar. Traitor.

Javert swallowed hard, a strange burning building behind his eyes.

Something was pressing into his thigh, he realized. He felt around his leg. There wasn't a rock or pebble to be found. Still, the pressure remained. Exasperated, Javert cast about for the object. It must be in his pocket. His hand slipped in and closed in around something like a string of pebbles.

He froze, inhaling sharply as he pulled it out, knowing before it was visible what it was.

The rosary was cool in his hand, the dark beads making it difficult to see. The silver crucifix, however, seemed to glow in the faint light. He could not tell if it was merely reflecting the light or if the light was coming from within.

Once more, he heard Fantine's intimate prayer: "Thank you, Lord, for your mercy. Thank you for Jesus whose blood washed me, a sinner, clean."

Javert pressed the rosary to his face and wept bitterly.

Bible references:

*Deuteronomy 19:21 (KJV)

**Ephesians 2:4-5 (NIV)

***Romans 3:23-24 (NIV)

****Romans 8:1-2 (NIV)

A/N 2: Part 2 will be posted next week where we'll actually get to the meat of the parable itself. In the meantime, what did you think of part one? Please leave a review and let me know!

Have a great week everyone!

Noelani