A/N This one is prompted by various meta discussions and the idea of pushing the boundaries of very unlikely pairings. It will probably annoy Javert and Enjolras fans in equal measure, but...enh. Why not? I love the idea of snark and passion and arguments between two terribly self-contained me...and these two having to work together. Not to mention that the idea of slash here just triggers all sorts of "how the hell?" questions!
Leroux is an OC, Javert is Hugo's, and all the other Sûreté agents mentioned are historical.
The man sitting opposite Leroux, ensconced behind his desk, papers and volumes in their trays and piles, was perfectly upright. He read the report in front of him with care, once referring to the file alongside – a file that was already some three inches thick, Leroux noticed, although it contained data compiled from a date hardly a month past – to all outward appearances calmly absorbing its contents. The Sûreté agent spared a glance at his colleague, Pierre Allard, who was sitting back in his chair, legs and arms crossed. No, he couldn't quite manage the savoir-faire of the man behind the desk – not to Leroux's practiced eye. He might not be gnawing his nails, but there was an impatient bob to the movement of the tip of the foot suspended in air, which was as much in Allard as nervous finger tapping would be in another man.
And no wonder Allard was so nervous. The continued existence of the Sûreté itself, which both worked for, hung in the balance. Both Gisquet and Vidocq had gone to ground, having jumped before they were pushed (the old antagonists seeing a common threat and foe in those commanding from the National Assembly); the ranks had been purged of those agents more involved than others in the suppression of the Republicans before the June Revolution; and there was talk of an investigation into the methods used by the organisation in gathering information on illegal political cells (illegal no longer, now their members held, however tenuously, the reins of government).
Their fate lay in this man's hands – a man who had, only months before, been part of that vast network of dangerous classes, hardly to be distinguished from the thieves and cutthroats that occupied the Parisian underworld save in that, as a student Republican, Leroux would assume that he was one of those irritatingly naïve would-be insurgents who made his job of keeping the streets safe so much more difficult. Always ready to tear up paving stones or rain them down on the police from the upper stories of buildings, when one finally laid hands on them they were either full of bombastic defiance or quivering excuses – "Not me, no, I was tricked into it!" "I was caught behind the barricade when the fighting began, I took no part!"
This man, this Enjolras, seemed curiously out of joint with that image. Leroux understood him to be the leader of one of the minor barricades, a law student who had apparently made revolution his professional occupation, given his age and the fact he had barely sat his bar exams. Youthful and fresh-faced, the press had been inclined to make much of him and for a brief time this past summer he had been a darling of the lithographers, before subsiding into the Department of State with a vague title, presumably a stepping stone to higher office when he had gained a few more years and a few grey hairs.
What the Sûreté had soon discovered, however, was that this was the man to whom they were to be answerable under this new Republic. Besieged on all sides by foreign agents determined to undermine the new government and internal threats from Legitimists to Ultras, this man – who was purported to have some organisational ability and experience in the underground war of spies and insurgents– was to be their bureaucratic leash holder.
Discussing it with Allard – who had yet to have his appointment as Director of the Sûreté confirmed, assuming there was to continue to be a Sûreté – the two had been disgusted at the prospect of a pen-pushing theorist adding a layer of paperwork to their jobs, and to being in any way answerable to a man whose experience in police or spy work consisted of organising meetings in cafes or firing an old hunting rifle from behind a pile of paving stones while destroying public property.
He had not expected to be taken so aback at the first meeting, and began to wish their files on M. Enjolras had been more complete. Perhaps there was a reason for their brevity. He had assumed it was because the boy had not been significant enough to warrant further notice. He began to wonder if perhaps it was because Enjolras had more skill in managing his subversive activities than the average politically minded student.
Enjolras finished the report, and looked up at them, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk and pressing his forefingers together and to his lips. His eyes startlingly recalled to mind a theory one of his colleagues had once expressed to Leroux. "The worst killers I've known," he'd confided, "Have the clearest blue eyes. Clearest – and the coldest." Leroux had dismissed it out of hand at the time as fanciful. Now he remembered it with an unpleasant sensation up his spine.
The man's manner was not aggressive; though Leroux had the uncomfortable feeling he was sitting opposite someone of extraordinarily compressed personal power that might manifest itself in alarming ways. Quiet men were sometimes the most lethal – and this one had not a hint of bombast or aggrandisement to his manner. He struck Leroux, in short, as truly dangerous.
"This is an honest assessment of our situation," he finally spoke – not a question, a statement. "The threats we face are serious. As you know, this document," he touched the paper, "identifies at least three foreign powers who are conducting subversive activities against the Republic on our own soil. There are an unknown number of foreign agents, believed to number in the tens, if not scores. There is also at least one well-developed Legitimist plot, again, with foreign support."
"That is the situation as we understand it," Leroux confirmed.
"And where do the Sûreté's loyalties stand?" Enjolras asked abruptly, shifting his implacable gaze to Allard. "Have you transferred your allegiance fully to the Republic, and how do you intend to serve her?"
Allard moved very uncomfortably in his chair.
"You know that some officers have resigned," he began. Enjolras nodded curtly. "Others may yet do so. Your own men have been actively recruiting, so we are replacing those we have lost and the organisation is taking on a…colour perhaps more to your liking." Their nominal chief did not acknowledge the claim by word or change of expression, and after a brief pause Allard continued. "We serve the government of the day. Our first loyalty is to the people of France, and to the security of France."
Enjolras regarded him carefully before nodding again.
"We shall test that loyalty. Do not expect me to be lenient – I will not be lax with the security and wellbeing of the people, as embodied in the Republic. But I give you my word that your organisation and each man in it will be given a fair chance to prove himself and his loyalties."
He stood and moved to the window. The rooms were located on a mid-floor of the Tuleries, where many of the new government's offices had been established. His gaze was turned outwards towards the gardens, now alive with the colour and movement of people who walked between the barren flowerbeds under the bright winter sunlight, but Leroux had the impression that Enjolras saw none of it. His thoughts were very firmly elsewhere. "I know of the Sûreté's record," he continued. "Good and bad. I know both how the organisation has radically reduced crime in the dozen years since its inception, and how Vidocq concentrated on making the bourgeois feel comfortable that threats to their wellbeing – be they criminal or political – were contained." He turned to them. "Now, you will extend yourself to ensure that all the people are afforded the protection of the law."
Leroux and Allard exchanged looks. Enjolras began a restless pacing, hands clenched behind his back.
"I do not like the idea of a secret police, of a body that acts in an underground manner when it is necessary to achieve its aims. I do not approve of spies and paid informants, of dirty wars fought beyond the scrutiny of daylight, and of bodies answerable not to the people but to faceless men in government. But the Republic is not secure yet, and we face threats on all sides. They will not fight in the light. They will use every means possible to undermine and destroy us." He stopped pacing and looked at them.
"Understand, I am not giving you carte blanche to do as you will. You are still answerable to me, and I to the people. But I will not concede this ground to them, and if we must dirty our hands, then I would rather that filth be on mine as well." There was a fleeting twist of expression that made Leroux wonder if this man's hands had already been sullied by the necessity of a desperate fight. He had been on the barricades, after all. He had struggled in the dark of secrecy and deceit for years to bring his particular truth to the light.
"I…think we take your meaning," Allard said. "We report to you."
"Good," Enjolras responded. "As long as we are clear on this. I will not have Paris ruled by the terror of government agents acting without repercussions, but nor will I have the Republic's defenders stymied by the methodology of our opponents. Now – as to practical means…"
"I think I have the man you need," Allard said, producing a file. "He retired in June with the advent of the Republic, but has been persuaded to come out of retirement. A police inspector who has worked with us in the past on – erm – delicate matters. Very well regarded in the police force generally and the Sûreté, knows his way around a disguise and is extremely tenacious. He has the experience and skills to command the special squad you wish to establish to deal with the foreign elements of incursion."
Enjolras, who was reading the file, was very still indeed. Had it not been for a slight movement of his lips as he repeated a name, he would have been motionless. There was a drawn out pause.
"This man…this…Javert. You say he retired in June?"
Leroux was sure he was not mistaken. Enjolras was concealing some emotion, some response, although the Agent couldn't quite determine what it was. Well, well. "He did. He was engaged in counter-insurgency movements, and was taken prisoner."
"And yet you think he would serve the Republic?"
"His first loyalty is to the law, and he is of unimpeachable integrity. If the law of the land is the Republic, then he will swear his oath to it and follow it infallibly" Leroux answered without hesitation.
"You speak with confidence. And you say you have spoken to him about this?"
"I have. He has agreed."
Enjolras gave a small, curious smile.
"I suggest you put it to him again, and mention that he would be working under me. See if his response alters."
"You have encountered each other before?"
"Yes."
The tone of the monosyllabic answer did not encourage questions.
They took their leave, Enjolras walking them to the door, but still seeming thoughtfully abstracted. His assistant, one Jean Prouvaire, was on his feet outside, with sheathes of papers and a look that Leroux recognised as universal to those who aided and attempted to organise busy men the world over, a determination to corner his chief for paperwork and approvals before his time was commanded by another appointment. Enjolras held up his hand to hold him at bay a moment longer.
"Tell M. Javert that I will meet with him to discuss this proposal if he so wishes. I imagine he will wish to sound me out on….several matters."
Clearly Enjolras also wished to better come to terms with matters concerning Javert, as well.
Leroux, thinking of these two rigid, upright men with their secrets and their ferociously held ideals suddenly wished he could be a witness to that interview, should it come to pass. He had the distinct impression it might be very interesting indeed.