Chapter II:
Valjean returns safely to his house, no one stopping him and asking him about the unconscious man draped across his back. Even if someone had, he knows he could easily come up with an excuse, especially on a night like this one.
He adjusts Javert's weight on his back, his wings beginning to cramp from being in a position that would accommodate the Inspector.
Letting out a quick sigh, Valjean begins the task of climbing the stairs. It's a struggle trying to get himself, plus the added height and width of Javert, up the staircase. He's almost sure he bended one of Javert's wings in an uncomfortable position at one point, but with no response from the man, he cannot be sure.
He places Javert on his bed and begins to pry off the man's wet clothing, taking time to dry off his body, and tuck it underneath the blankets. Once that has been taken care of, he quickly changes his own clothes. He picks up the two separate wet bundles and takes it downstairs for his housemaid to collect in the morning, along with his other dirty clothing.
While he's downstairs, Valjean heats some water, and places it in a bowl along with a cloth. He wants to warm up Javert's body, the coldness of the Seine, plus the night air could be fatal to the man if he's not careful. It makes Valjean remember a time when Cosette was still quite young and had contracted pneumonia in the winter. It was a difficult time for Valjean, he spent many sleepless nights by her bed, stroking her hair and praying.
Returning to Javert's bedside, Valjean rings out the cloth so that it's damp, gently dabbing the Inspector's face with it to warm it up again. Right now, his face is ice cold which makes Valjean wonder if he should add a couple more blankets to the bed or not. In the end, he decides to add one more blanket and stoke the fire.
Now all Valjean has to do is wait. He shifts from sitting beside the bed, dozing off, and praying. He knows that God may not hold Javert in a favourable light anymore from what he has done. So he prays for Javert's forgiveness.
The small hours of the morning is when Javert starts to mumble in his sleep and shiver, making Valjean startle out of one of his bouts of restless sleep. He quickly moves to Javert's side, checking his forehead. The heat coming off of it makes Valjean wince in sympathy. He quickly grabs the washcloth once more and wets it in the now cool water. He squeezes some of the water out and places it on the Inspector's head after wiping the sweat from his head, neck, and chest.
Valjean doesn't tuck the bedsheets up to Javert's neck again, wanting his body to cool off. He knows the man won't be too happy about this, but it's either his comfort or his life, and Valjean will be damned if he lets him die on his watch.
He doesn't know why Javert decided to jump into the Seine. He gave him his life, he let him go free. So why would he decide to end it? Could he simply not bear the thought of Valjean being a changed person that he couldn't stand living in this world anymore?
He's pulled from his thoughts by Javert's inane mumbling. He thinks he can hear the man chanting "no" repeatedly, but he isn't too sure.
Having Javert in his bed with a high fever makes Valjean feel ill at ease. He doesn't know what to do so he resorts to stroking his hands through the Inspector's long, greying hair. It managed to sooth Cosette when she was young, so maybe it would help Javert?
Javert's hair is silky between Valjean's fingers, but as he gets closer toward the tips, they get caught on tangles and knots. The water hasn't been kind to his hair, it seems. He carefully untangles them, trying not to tug too hard that it would wake the sleeping man.
The Inspector quiets after a couple of minutes of Valjean fixing his hair and finally settles into fitful sleep.
Once he's finished, he gently wipes the cool washcloth over Javert's face a couple more times and returns it to the washbasin. When Valjean is sure that Javert has settled at last, he goes down the stairs to get water. He knows he'll have to force it down the Inspector's throat and hopes to God that it won't be as tedious a task as he anticipates.
Before returning to his room, he quickly stretches out his old wings, which have grown cramped from sleeping on the chair. He wonders briefly about Javert's own wings. He doesn't know what damage they have sustained from his jump, but he can only hope that they will make a swift recovery along with the man himself. He knows they're not broken, but it could be some unseen injury.
He returns to his room with the cup of water and places it on the bedside table. He's about to prop the Inspector up when something catches his eyes. Javert's feathers look worse than they did earlier that evening. Despite the man's overall dishevelled appearance that night, his wings had been immaculate. But now, now the feathers were facing every which way making Valjean check his own feathers to make sure they too were not in such a state.
The state of ones feathers tells so much about an individual, and Valjean knows that Javert would not be able to stand his feathers being in such a state, even if he is unconscious.
Leaving the cup of water forgotten on the table, he takes one of Javert's wings into his hands and starts to preen them. He carefully rakes his fingers through the feathers, not too unlike how he unknotted the man's hair not too long before. He lightly tugs on the loose feathers, picking them out and placing them in a steadily growing pile beside his bed. Once Valjean has made it through one wing, he looks at the pile with a frown. This is more feathers than what is normal. He quickly moves onto Javert's other wing, giving it all of attention so he doesn't have to think about what the molting feathers could mean.
All too soon he's finished with the second wing. He collects the feathers collected in a pile on the floor and throws them into the fire. He returns to his chair and rests his head in his hands. People only molt during puberty, there is no other time in their life that this happens. Unless…
He's heard stories when he was in Toulon. Stories he didn't bother thinking about twice, quickly dismissing it as superstitious nonsense. Maybe he should have paid more attention to it.
But, who would pay attention to such a story? A story about a woman who's feathers had all fallen out only to grow back in ebony.
A/N: Sorry about not posting for a while. I kinda got a bit self conscious and stuff. I'll try not to let that get in the way from now on haha