Sorry about the long author's note last chapter, and I will be following the request of one reader to cut down on the length of my author's notes, however they will remain at the top of the chapter with the story starting after the cut.
Oh, and just before we start, I was asked how to pronounce Léonard, and just for everyone, it's pronounced like Leonardo (as in Da Vinci) but without the o, not Leonard like the character from The Big Bang Theory. And because I've been asked multiple times so far, yes there will be an Éponine/Enjolras relationship that is a key point of the story, but this is mostly about the father/son relationship of Javert and Enjolras, and I've worked hard to make the Enjonine side of this story believable. Just wait and see where I take it before you decide to stop reading, because I've hopefully portrayed a realistic way that a relationship could form between the two of them.
My Father's Shadow
Chapter Three
Like Any Other Family
There is no such thing as a perfect life. As a man who spent the first sixteen years of his life sleeping on the ground every night, Javert knew that all too well. But he had to admit, over the past four years, Javert had come pretty close to achieving a perfect life. Now, don't get me wrong, life wasn't perfect, the Javert family had its bad days what with illness and arguments like any other family, but it was a charmed life.
However, there was one thing Javert really wanted that he couldn't get: a job on the police force. About three months after the birth of Sébastien, Javert had plucked up the courage to approach his father-in-law with the idea of joining the police force. Unfortunately, it turned out that Javert could have Adelaide or a job with the police, but notboth. Citing the reason that it would lead to accusations of favoritism and nepotism, Léonard gently and reluctantly dashed Javert's dreams of police work. He took it in stride and continued to put all his efforts into work at the Bagne, but it was clear Javert had outgrown the job of shepherding and containing wrongdoers. He needed the thrill of the chase and the taste of the catch, not dealing with its leftovers.
Sensing his assistant's displeasure, Chevalier had unofficially promoted Javert and began entrusting him with important tasks like serving parolees their papers, and escorting newcomers from their current holdings to the Bagne. Yet with all his efforts, Chevalier knew that sooner or later, he was going to lose his best officer. He would have promoted Javert officially in a heartbeat, but there simply wasn't an open position that an assistant to the guard could progress to. But Javert couldn't complain, he had a good job, loving wife, a son who practically idolized him, and altogether as close to a perfect life as he could get.
And then on October 10, 1815, everything changed.
Javert started the day by waking up to an empty bed. This was nothing new; Adelaide was an early riser, preferring to get the morning chores started as soon as possible. Usually by the time Javert woke, his wife had dressed, woken Sébastien, dressed the boy, made his bed, laid out her husband's uniform, and gotten breakfast on the table. By no means did Javert treat his wife like a maid (their four year old son was another story), it was just simply the type of work expected of a woman in those days, and Adelaide had no problem fitting with that particular societal norm. That wasn't to say that Javert didn't help Adelaide around the house, it was just that she had her morning routine and a habit of smacking her husband in the arm if he got in the way.
On that morning Javert experienced that strange phenomenon when the subconscious is so content with their life at hand, that they simply wake up happy. This phenomenon was one Javert experienced very rarely throughout the course of his entire life, but was a regular occurrence in the six years after Adelaide had entered into his life as a significant figure.
And it would be a long time after that particular morning before he experienced it again.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Javert got out of bed and opened the window. The roof may leak, but Javert and Adelaide's bedroom got surprisingly stuffy. Upon opening the window, a gust of chilly air poured into the room, carrying with it the faint groaning rhythm of the prisoners' work song. It was going to be a hard day on the prisoners, but hopefully no one would pull any funny business.
Quickly stripping off his night clothes and changing into his uniform waiting ready for him on the chair, Javert absentmindedly began whistling along to the work song. It was a habit Javert had developed over the years, a sign of him being content, though he was careful not to do it in front of Chevalier, who, if possible, had only become grumpier over the years.
Speaking of Chevalier…
Javert frowned as he began his morning chore of making the bed, he was concerned over a certain piece of news that Chevalier had shared with him yesterday. As part of serving prisoners their parole papers, Javert was informed the day before as to who was up for parole that morning, and he was met with an unhappy surprise.
After nineteen years of imprisonment, today they would release 24601.
And Javert was so looking forward to that.
After all, everyone knows that releasing a violent repeat offender who had personally injured your father-in-law, down a road that led right up to your home containing your wife and four year old son, was a very relaxing and positive thought.
He was getting too old for this, and he was only thirty-five.
Giving the blankets one last tug, Javert stepped back to check over the bed, and, satisfied with his work, he exited the bedroom into the main room, whistling the whole way.
Adelaide looked up from the small area sectioned off to be a kitchen, "Are you whistling the work song again?"
"It's catchy," Javert shrugged.
Adelaide just smiled and lightly shook her head, "Add that to the list of words I never thought you'd use."
Javert scoffed, "Have we really been married so long that I don't even get a proper good morning? Just moving straight into the mocking now, are we?"
"Mon Amour, if you want a proper good morning," Adelaide smirked, "why don't you come get one?"
Javert raised a brow, "Don't mind if I do."
With surprising speed, Adelaide found herself pressed against the counter, her husband's arms locked around her waist and his lips pressed hungrily against hers. She had no problem in returning the gesture, weaving her hands into his hair and smiling as his beard (which he had grown out over the years) tickled against her soft, sensitive skin. Adelaide had to suppress a content sigh; there were few couples who could say they had this much passion after a few months of courtship, let alone five years of marriage. For a man who had been so obsessed who propriety during their courtship, and had half stuttered his way through their wedding night, Javert had come a long way in his shows of affection.
But, unfortunately, there was a time and place for such a thing, and trailing down her neck in the kitchen, forty minutes before he had to leave for work was neither the time nor the place.
Adelaide pulled away from her husband, placing a hand on his chest to stop him when he attempted to recapture her lips.
"Don't start something you can't finish," Adelaide smirked holding a finger to his lips.
Javert grinned, resting his hands on her lower back, "Never, ma Chérie."
"Ugh," Adelaide pulled a face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Don't call me that, s'il vous plaît, Darling? Père calls me that, and coming from you it just sounds… wrong."
"Fair enough," Javert released his wife and she went back to preparing breakfast. "Do you want some help?"
Adelaide raised a brow at him and gave a pointed look at his arm.
Cautiously drawing it back, Javert said, "I'll take that as a no."
"Oui, Mon Amour," Adelaide turned back to the counter and resumed her morning chores. "Though, if you're looking for something to do, you could tidy the living area."
Javert looked over at the chairs and side tables in front of the fireplace, a space which Adelaide had long ago dubbed the living area, as they had no separate receiving or dining rooms. Strewn across the tables and chairs were various books, toys, and articles of clothing, a mess caused only by the inclusion of a young child in a household.
"I didn't have time to straighten out Sébastien's things last night," Adelaide said as Javert began tidying the area. If Javert had been paying attention, he would have noticed her slower movements.
If he had been paying attention.
"Well, you were otherwise occupied," Javert smiled as memories of the previous night flashed through his mind.
Adelaide smirked at her husband, slowly carrying the dishes to the table, "Says the man who occupied me."
Javert averted her gaze, a pleased and proud expression on his face as he began filing away some books on the bookshelf, "Speaking of Sébastien, where is he? Not still in bed?"
Adelaide was suddenly very interested in the setting the table.
"Adelaide," Javert frowned gathering more books from the side table by his armchair, "where is Sébastien?"
"Outside," she mumbled, very focused on straightening out a fork.
Javert's eyes went wide.
"What?" he slammed the books back down on the side table.
Adelaide took a deep breath and turned to face her husband, "He's outside. Go on, give me the usual lecture."
Javert scowled beside himself with anger, "I don't see why I should, since you just choose to ignore it anyway."
"Javert-"
"Non, non, I'm just overreacting. After all, it's not like we live next to a prison of violent offenders. Of course it's perfectly safe to let our four year old son play outside unsupervised next to the road said criminals travel on. What was I thinking?"
"It was only going to be for ten, maybe twenty minutes at the most," Adelaide crossed her arms in front of her. "I just needed a few minutes where he wasn't underfoot."
"Then put him in his room, or give him book to read," Javert tried to control his anger, they must have had this discussion a hundred times already. "He's like you; somehow he finds it enjoyable to read for leisure. Dieu knows he doesn't get that from me."
"Oh, oui, give him a book and have him ask every five seconds Maman, what does this word mean?" Adelaide rolled her eyes as she continued to gently set the table. "He's an advanced reader for his age, but not advanced enough to be left on his own. At least not with the kind of books we have in this house. Besides, it's half after eight in the morning; the only people using that road right now are guards switching from night watch to morning watch. You told me yourself, prisoners don't get released until at least noon. Plus the wall's taller than Sébastien, he can't see over it, and no one can see him. He's safe."
"That still doesn't make me feel better," Javert growled; he wanted to be done with this argument. "I just don't understand why you don't respect my wishes when I'm not around. I only want to keep him safe."
"Well, when you're the only one around to take care of our son, then you can call the shots. But until then, I really suggest you get off my back!" Adelaide snapped, slamming a plate down with a sudden burst of energy.
A tense silence filled the room, they both knew that neither of them was wrong about the situation, but they also knew that neither of them was right.
"Look," Adelaide exhaled deeply, relieving herself of anger, "I'm sorry. You're right, Sébastien is too young to be outside by himself, but sometimes I need him out of the way. So how about I don't let him outside unsupervised after twelve, and for no more than twenty minutes?"
"Twelve and twenty?" Javert sighed, rubbing his forehead to relieve the stress. He had long ago learned that when Léonard had told him that being a father was learning to compromise, he wasn't just talking about dealing with the child, but rather the mother too. Unfortunately this was the best compromise he really was going to get, "Fine, but I still don't like it."
"Nor do you have to," Adelaide crossed back to the kitchen the weariness setting back into her movements. "Now, could you go get Sébastien? Breakfast's almost ready."
"Of course," he watched as she returned to the table to further set it, finally noticing her lethargy.
Javert paused; he really didn't like the tense feelings that were left between husband and wife after a fight. He always needed that reassurance that no argument could break them apart. So, as Adelaide crossed back toward the kitchen, Javert caught her by the arm, pulled her in and fervently crushed his lips to hers once more. She was confused for sure, but it didn't stop her from melting into the kiss and furthering it.
When he released her, she blinked rapidly as if clearing stars from her vision, "Wh-"
"Just reminding you I love you," Javert answered, holding her close.
Adelaide smiled, "I love you too. Now, our son, allez!"
Sébastien Javert, the boy who would later be called Enjolras, looked like a spitting image of his father. Yet, it was one of those things that you didn't see unless it was pointed out to you. He had his father's nose, his blue eyes, his eyebrows, mouth, chin, ears, and so on. In fact it seemed that the only thing Sébastien got from his mother was her curly hair, which was a long little mop in his fourth year of age. Even then Sébastien had the bright blonde hair colour of Javert's youth, a colour that now was darkened on the father from less exposure to sun and flecked with grey due to age and foremost, stress.
The four year old stood about a metre from the black stone wall that encircled the Javert property, bouncing a small brown ball against it. His stance was casual, but face inset with focus and determination as he threw and caught the ball. He looked worlds away in what Léonard had dubbed his thinking face. Léonard claimed that the reason the boy liked to bounce the ball so much was that the repetitive motion and noise, set rhythm for the youngster think and work things out to. No doubt Sébastien was developing complex thoughts and ideas, figuring out how to best work the world, what his role would be in it, and he contemplated the deep questions posed by society.
Personally Javert just thought Sébastien liked to bounce the ball because he liked bouncing the ball.
"Having fun?" Javert called to his son as the boy threw the ball once more.
The ball landed in the grass with a slight thud as the small boy's head snapped toward the source of the noise and he neglected to catch the ball upon its return.
"Papa!" the boy practically barrelled into his father's legs.
This was Javert's favorite part of the day, any time with his wife and son was a good time of the day, but the best had to be when Sébastien first saw his father in the morning. The way his eyes would always light up and a giant grin would stretch across his face. Javert knew that there was no one in the world the boy loved more than his father.
It would be a memory that haunted Javert for the rest of his life.
"Bon matin to you too, my boy," Javert awkwardly stood as Sébastien hugged his legs. He wasn't quite sure whether to bend down and struggle to return the boy's hug, or just keep standing there. Javert settled on patting Sébastien's head until the boy finally let go. "Maman says breakfast's almost ready."
Sébastien frowned, he knew that the sooner they had breakfast meant the sooner his father would have to leave, and like any son who idolized his father, he wanted to stop Javert's departure at all costs.
The boy looked up at his father with his best dog eyed expression, "But Papa-"
"Sébastien," Javert warned and the boy stopped with the puppy eyes. Javert sighed and lightly shook his head as he walked over to where Sébastien's ball lay abandoned in the grass; his son had a habit of forgetting it outside if his parents didn't bring it in. "Now take your ball and wait right here while I get the mail, and then we'll head inside."
Sébastien stubbornly crossed his arms and plopped down cross legged in the thin grass.
Javert had to repress the urge to roll his eyes as he strode down the path to the entrance way of the stone wall where the mailbox stood. Although mailboxes weren't used in Europe until the mid to late 19th century, they had begun to appear in Paris, France in the late 18th century. Since Javert and Adelaide lived on the edge of town, and the LaFleurs did have some connections, as an anniversary gift one year, Carine had pulled some strings to get them one.
"It was Adelaide's idea to have kids, not mine," Javert muttered to himself retrieving the letters from the box. He glanced back over at his son who was throwing his ball in the air and catching it. A sad expression was on his face.
But, he hadn't been too harsh.
Had he?
"Sébastien?" Javert called.
The boy's head snapped up, missing his catch once again, "Oui, Papa?"
Javert sighed, searching for the words to say before finally settling on, "Can you check Gymont's trough for me?"
"Oui Papa!" Seemingly delighted with being helpful for his father, Sébastien scampered off toward where Gymont was tied.
Javert looked down at the letters in his hands; he wasn't worried about the prospect of the boy being by Gymont unsupervised. The horse had long ago become used to the smallest Javert, and in fact was pleased with the young boy's company as he all too often brought treats with him. As an additional comfort, the window in the house's kitchen area overlooked Gymont's area, so if something did happen, Adelaide would keep an eye on him. As for Sébastien dealing with the horse's food and water, he was well aware that that was a job for either Maman or Père, but he knew what to look for and was often given the job of checking the horse's supply.
Taking a glance through the letters, Javert saw that, as per usual, most were posted to Adelaide, her being the one from society. He flipped through the letters when suddenly he eye caught on one.
It was posted to him.
But who would-
"Papa!" his son came scurrying back, a proud look on his face. "Gymont's trough is good!"
"Are you sure?" Javert didn't look down at the boy beaming up at him; he just stared at the strange yet somehow familiar envelope. "Because remember the last time you said it was good, and poor Gy ended up starving half the day."
Sébastien huffed, crossed his arms, and in typical Enjolras blooded fashion, rolled his eyes, "Oui, Père."
The usage of the term Père is what caught Javert's attention.
"Pardon, I had to… Never mind," Javert shook his head as he tucked the letters into his coat. Landing back in reality, Javert noticed something in the grass; it was the ball. Picking it up, Javert frowned as he extended it to his son, "Didn't I just give this back to you?"
Sébastien snatched the ball from his father's outstretched hand, "Maybe…"
Javert sighed.
"Adelaide's idea. Adelaide's idea," Javert muttered to himself. "Look your Maman probably has breakfast ready, and I have to head off soon, so allez."
Sébastien frowned, racking his brain for any way to keep his father with him that much longer, "But Papa-"
"Now Sébastien, we can do this the easy way, or," Javert grinned down at his son, "the hard way. So which is it?"
Sébastien knew that look.
"The hard way."
"When I said, go get Sébastien…" Adelaide laughed as she beheld the sight of her husband entering the house, carrying their brightly beaming son under one arm.
"He chose the hard way," Javert shrugged, plopping Sébastien down in his chair at the table and retrieving the letters from his coat. "Mail's here."
"Merci," Adelaide taking her letters from her husband as they sat down at the table and began dishing out the food. "You got one?"
"Oui," Javert broke the seal of his letter and began reading it, "though I don't know from… whom… Mon Dieu."
"Language," Adelaide jerked her head toward Sébastien who was happily eating, off in his own world.
Javert didn't seem to even hear her; he too was in his own world. He was reading over a letter and glancing at a document he had withdrawn from the envelope.
"Darling? Darling? Mon Amour?" Adelaide frowned, but her voice didn't rouse him. "Javert?"
"Julien Devere?" Javert whispered to himself, eyes glued on the document. "Non, it can't be."
Adelaide sighed, she hated when she had to resort to this, "Gabriel!"
That did it.
"Pardon," Javert stuffed the papers back into the envelope, which he hastily shoved in his jacket. "I should get going."
"What? Non!" Adelaide and Sébastien's objections overlapped each other as Javert gave Sébastien's hair and slight tousle, and pressed a kiss to Adelaide's cheek.
"But you've barely touched your breakfast," Adelaide protested as Javert crossed to the door.
"I'm sorry, I have to go. I'll eat later. Au revoir!" Javert slammed the door behind him.
Adelaide turned back to her son, "What was that about?"
Sébastien just shrugged and dug back into his food.
"Is it true?" asked the assistant guard in a hushed whisper as the prisoners passed by towards the galleys.
Chevalier sighed, glancing around as the other guards led out the prisoners, some of which were already humming the tune of their work song, "Oui."
"But," Javert frowned, keeping his back to the prisoners to prevent them from seeing his panicked expression, "why wasn't I told?"
"It seemed like it would affect your work performance for something that doesn't really change anything," Chevalier replied, carefully eyeing each prisoner.
"Doesn't change anything?" Javert cried, wincing at his superior's expression at the outburst. He lowered his voice back to an appropriate volume, a hushed whisper, "Of course it changes things."
"Really?" Chevalier raised a brow. "Is it going to change how you deal with him?"
"Well, non."
"Does it mean you'll treat him any differently than the others?"
"Non."
"Does this mean your lifestyle will change?"
"Non."
"So, it will only change your feelings about him?" Chevalier asked.
"Well," Javert frowned, "not really."
"Then why are we even having this conversation?"
Javert sighed, "I just… wish I had known."
"It still doesn't change anything," Chevalier snapped, he had more important things to do than play psychologist to the assistant guard. "He's still a prisoner and you're still a guard, and a bloody good one at that. So, forget whatever it is that's bothering you about this, and do your job. Or am I going to have to find someone else to?"
"Non, Monsieur," Javert bowed to his boss.
"Good, now here are 24601's papers," Chevalier handed the sheaf to the younger guard.
"Merci," Javert kept his eyes lowered, he had much fear and respect for his superior that Javert often forgot that the man was only seven years his elder.
"Now get back to your position," Chevalier ordered, "we've got a ship to deal with."
Due to its location, it actually rained very rarely in Toulon, only on about sixty days of the year. The wettest month however, was in October in which they would experience brief, but torrential rains. On this particular day, while the prisoners hauled in the wreckage of a ship, Toulon experienced a short downpour of what seemed like a mix of rain and snow.
Javert stood above the galleys, watching the prisoners while they worked. His thick uniform kept him warm on days like this, but was absolute murder on the warm days of the year. Still, he was thankful for the heavy fabric on this particular day.
His job was to observe the prisoners, make sure they weren't plotting anything, that everyone was working, and basically to ensure no funny business was going on. As long as the prisoners kept at their work and kept looking down, there wouldn't be any problems.
But this was Javert's life, so of course there would be problems.
The prisoners sung their work song, rotating through the lyrics, each taking their turn for the solos and teaching the new prisoners the words. About halfway through the work, they returned to the lyric of "Look down, look down, don't look them (or 'em as some would sing it) in the eye."
24601 took the solo on this particular round, and just as he sung the word eye, he did the very thing he was singing about.
He looked up at Javert.
As the other prisoners sang the next line (look down, look down, you're here until you die) Javert frowned and held 24601's gaze. Javert vaguely wondered if 24601 knew that today he would be freed and if this was some sort of last day rebellion. It unsettled him, of course the convict knew today was the day, what convict didn't keep track? The thing that worried Javert was that the criminals who acted out rebellion on their last day meant that the prison sentence hadn't punished them enough. Prisoners were like wild horses, and only the ones who had been broken could truly return to society.
24601 had not been broken.
What Javert didn't know was that it would not be him, but rather a Bishop, off in the town of Digne, who would break 24601's criminal spirit and give him a new, honest life.
But how could Javert possibly know that? All he knew was that he had one last chance to try and break 24601 himself, or else this violent man would be free in society to do whatever he wanted.
And as a father and husband, that thought greatly worried Javert.
Using his baton and 24601's unbroken gaze, Javert pointed at the prisoner and gestured for him to look down.
But as 24601 looked back down towards the wrecked ship, another problem prisoner caught Javert's attention.
"No God above," was sung out by a familiar voice, and Javert stopped in his tracks and turned his attention on the prisoner.
It was Prisoner 18493, aka Julien Devere.
Javert's frown hardened from mild annoyance to pure hatred as Julien continued singing, "and Hell alone below."
"Look down, look down," Javert paced along, watching the prisoners sing, like a predator stalking its prey. He couldn't believe that after all these years, this man had been right under his nose and he had never known, "there's twenty years to go."
"I've done no wrong, sweet Jesus hear my prayer," one of the prisoners sung as Javert kept his eyes locked on Julien. Chevalier had been right, nothing had really changed between jailer and captive, but still… he should have been told.
"Look down, look down, sweet Jesus doesn't care," Javert caught something out of the corner of his eye as the prisoners chanted. 24601 was eying the guards on the wall, the ones who were standing ready to shoot without hesitation. Javert never liked it when the prisoners watched the guards, not only were they not looking down, but it always seemed like they were plotting something. It was in that moment Javert decided that dealing with his new information about Devere would have to wait, right now he needed to focus his attention on the defiant prisoner.
"I know she'll wait, I know that she'll be true," sung another prisoner as Javert kept his eyes locked on 24601, waiting for the moment that the prisoner would no doubt look up at him again.
Javert's determination was clearly shown in his relaxed grip on his baton, as it hung limply by his side. He was almost willing 24601 to look up.
And then it happened, 24601 looked back up as they sung, "Look down, look down, they've all forgotten you."
Javert gave him a cold look, and 24601 looked back down as the prisoner in front of him sang, "When I get free, you won't see me, here for dust."
Yes, Javert needed to think of something to teach 24601 his place, and he needed to think fast.
It wasn't until the prisoners were headed back to their holdings, still singing their work song that Javert finally figured out what 24601's one last reminder would be.
"Look down, look down, you'll always be a slave," sung the prisoners as 24601 inched closer and closer toward Javert in the line, carefully the prisoner once looked up at the guards around him. "Look down, look down, you're standing in your grave."
Javert almost winced as each and every prisoner carelessly walked over the ship's flag. The ancient and honourable symbol of France being muddied and torn by the lowest of the low was sickening to the assistant guard. But one by one, 24601 moved slowly up in line and soon both problems would be solved.
Then it happened, 24601 was next.
Javert extended out his baton, halting 24601, and the guards around Javert held up the line. He paused for a moment, looking in the eye of the prisoner he had once helped his father-in-law recapture. It was the briefest of moments that he met 24601's eyes, but the wave of power Javert felt over 24601 was immense.
With a commanding and authoritative tone and posture, Javert looked back toward the sacred symbol of France and relayed his order to 24601, "Retrieve the flag."
24601 turned toward the flag and understood instantly, it was a challenge. It was a threat. It was a reminder of what he was, and most importantly, it was impossible.
Or so Javert thought.
Though he showed no sign of amazement or even interest, Javert was truly astounded when 24601 was actually able to lift the mast unaided, and carry it all the way until he dropped it down at Javert's feet. He didn't even take a glance at Julien Devere, the man who had truly been plaguing his mind that day, as the prisoner passed him in line.
Javert didn't know why, but he had the sudden urge to file the show of strength into his memory.
"Now, Prisoner 24601," the Assistant Guard produced 24601's papers, acting as if he had not seen such a show of strength, nor that he was disappointed that he had yet been able to break the prisoner's spirit, "your time is up and your parole's begun. You know what that means."
24601 couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, after all those years, it had finally come.
"Yes," he took the parole papers from the assistant guard, "it means I'm free."
Javert frowned and darkly replied, "No."
24601 glanced up in slight confusion at the assistant guard as Javert told the man the way things were actually going to work.
"Follow to the letter your itinerary," Javert instructed rounding in front of the former prisoner, "this badge of shame will show until you die. It warns you're a dangerous man."
"I stole a loaf of bread," 24601 looked up, they weren't really making such a fuss over so small of a crime, were they? "My sister's child was close to death, we were starving-"
"You will starve again," Javert snapped. "Unless you learn the meaning of the law."
He had no sympathy for 24601; the man had been born to much better opportunities in life than Javert had. Javert knew all too well the pain of an empty stomach and going days without food because his mother couldn't afford to (or sometimes, didn't care to) feed her son. But there were two ways people like Javert and 24601 could be a part of society, by either preying on society, or protecting it. Javert had chosen to protect, and 24601 had chosen to prey.
"I know the meaning of those nineteen years," 24601 seethed, "a slave of the law."
"Five years for what you did," Javert could tell the man didn't understand why his sentence and parole had been so harsh. But Javert couldn't forget. Every time he saw the scar on his father-in-law's arm or the crookedness of Léonard's nose due to the breakage 24601 had caused so long ago, Javert remembered why 24601 had spent almost two decades in this prison, and he had no patience for the former prisoner's ignorance. "The rest because you tried to run. Yes 24601."
Javert seemed to have hit a nerve, for when he spoke those words, 24601's head snapped up, "My name is Jean Valjean."
The assistant guard was beyond done with this man, "And I'm Javert. Do not forget my name. Do not forget me."
The now freed man took his signal and now headed towards the steps to his freedom.
"24601," Javert's words rang out behind him. No, Javert hadn't managed to break Jean Valjean, but something told him that this wasn't over.
"Look down, look down, you'll always be a slave."
As the prisoners chanted the final lines of the song, Jean Valjean walked slowly up the steps, Javert's eyes carefully following him. Javert carefully folded his arms behind his back, body filling with absolute power and loathing.
Valjean reached the top of the steps and looked back at Javert.
He held a dangerous gaze on Valjean.
"Look down, look down, you're standing in your grave."
No, this wasn't over.
The one thing that Javert hated most about his house was that the prisoner's singing carried from the prison towards the house, quite clearly during the day. So, once the rain had cleared and Adelaide was finally able to hang the laundry out the dry, the groans of the prisoners' work song set a pace for Adelaide to work as she watched Sébastien out of the corner of her eye, while he bounced his ball against the wall.
On this particular day, Adelaide wasn't strictly using the same pace as the work song dictated, more using every second or third beat. She had yet to admit it to her husband, but ever since she had caught the cold that had plagued Toulon back in September, Adelaide had felt slower and weaker. Adelaide had several theories as to what might have caused it, but she wanted confirmation or denial of her first theory before she brought it to her husband's attention.
Suddenly, Adelaide realised that the familiar pounding of Sébastien's ball hitting the stone wall had ceased. Slowly, she turned to see Sébastien standing quite still, staring thoughtfully at the wall as his ball lay in the grass in front of him.
"Mon amour?" Adelaide frowned at her son; he had on his thinking face.
"Why do they sing?" Sébastien asked.
Adelaide blinked, "Pardon?"
"Why do they sing?" Sébastien repeated.
Adelaide smiled fondly at her son and slowly walked over to the dip in the round wall. Sébastien scampered over, and his mother gently lifted him up onto the perch.
"A song is a powerful thing," Adelaide said as mother and son looked out at the prison. "It's a message, a sign to all those who hear it. A song can build an empire or break a heart. They sing because it's the one thing no one can ever take from you. People may take your home, your love, your life, your health, but they can never take the song in your heart. Everyone has their own song, and it's up to you to figure it out."
Sébastien looked up at his mother, "What's my song?"
Adelaide laughed, "Didn't I just say that you had to figure it out yourself?"
"Oui, Maman," Sébastien looked away, he had inherited his father's habit of looking away in embarrassment, but when he truly was uncomfortable, he would redden like his mother.
"It's true, you'll have to find it yourself," Adelaide wanted to hug her son, but she knew from personal experience that one wrong touch on that perch could send you tumbling off of it, and it did not have a pleasant landing. "Who knows, maybe it'll be a love song, or a victory march, or riveting duet. But I can tell you this; it's going to be a rousing song. Everyone who hears it won't be able to help but join in on it."
"Really?" Sébastien beamed.
"Really," Adelaide nodded, softly stroking his hair.
"What's your song?" Sébastien looked back up at his mother.
Adelaide laughed, "I'm not quite sure on the words, but it's definitely a love song."
"A love song?" Sébastien pulled a face.
"Oui," Adelaide shook her head lightly at her son's expression, he was at that age when girls were starting to become icky, and honestly she wondered if they'd ever become unicky to her boy. "A song of my love for you, for your Grandpère, for our friends, for your Papa-"
"What's Papa's song?" Sébastien perked up at the mention of his father, his most favorite person in the world.
"It's about stars," Adelaide smiled to herself, remembering when she had stargazed with Javert on their wedding night. "He's got most of the words down, though I think he still needs to work out the tune a bit more."
Sébastien looked down thoughtfully, and in the silence the prisoners' chanting floated on the air.
"Look down, look down, you'll always be a slave. Look down, look down, you're standing in your grave."
"Maman?" Sébastien asked cautiously.
"Oui, mon amour?" Adelaide replied.
"What's the prisoners' song?" Sébastien looked up.
Adelaide paused, her silence was unsettling to the young boy, but then she carefully asked, "Do you hear the prisoners singing?"
Sébastien looked to the prison and nodded.
"They sing the song of angry men. They sing as they work how they don't wish to be the slaves of the law again," Adelaide answered. She knelt down as that she was face to face with her son, and softly placed a hand on his chest so she felt the beating of his little heart, "Know that when the beating of your heart, echoes the beating of their drums, there is a life about to start, when tomorrow comes."
They sat there is silence for a few minutes, Adelaide's hand on her son's chest, feeling the powerful heartbeat. She might have been fooling herself, but it almost felt like his heartbeat began to slow and adjust to the beat of the song. But just as quickly as that feeling came did it go, and his heartbeat was back to normal.
"Oui, Maman," Sébastien nodded as her words carefully cemented into his memory.
Suddenly Adelaide looked over her son's shoulder, "Renée!"
Sébastien turned to see Aunt Carine's mother wave to his mother as she rounded down the road toward the entrance of the round wall. Without any warning to the boy, Adelaide picked him up off the wall and set his feet down onto the grass.
"Get your ball and head inside," Adelaide instructed her son as she crossed over to her laundry basket.
As his mother picked up the laundry that hadn't been hung up yet and greeted her best friend's mother, Sébastien looked back toward the prison. The singing had stopped, so it must mean all the prisoners had been sent back inside. Sébastien didn't pay attention as Adelaide and Renée entered the house, also oblivious to the boy. He kept his eyes fixed on the Bagne as he noticed a small figure walk up the path from the prison. The small dark figure kept coming closer and closer until he was in plain sight of the boy. Without thinking, Sébastien cautiously approached the dip in the wall and tried to peek over the wall.
He was met with the sight of a prisoner. Sharp brown eyes, shaved black hair, a dirty red rag clothing his body, and yellow parole papers clutched to his side, the man was staring straight at the boy.
Sébastien was frightened, yet curious, what had the man done? Did he steal something? Lie as to who he was? Did he kill someone? The possibilities were endless. Whether it was bravery or stupidity that caused it, Sébastien stayed rooted to his spot, eyes observing the stranger, taking in as much information about the man as possible.
The man too was studying the boy, it was the first person he had seen outside of the Bagne in years, and as such, the boy was making an impression in the criminal's mind.
"Sébastien! Inside now! Don't make me ask again!" a woman's voice snapped and the boy jumped, the fear of the criminal seemingly finally setting in.
Sébastien tore his eyes away from the stranger and quickly scampered back into the house, leaving his ball lying forgotten in the grass.
The criminal stood silent for about a minute, staring at the house the boy had disappeared into.
"Sébastien," the man whispered, locking the name and face of the boy into his memory.
Then, with a shrug, Jean Valjean continued on his way.
Javert stared at the document in his hand. He sat in his armchair in front of the fireplace. A glass of liquor sat neatly on the table next to him. Only a few sips had been taken from it, but it was no less comforting. Javert had no idea what kind it was, he had simply grabbed a bottle at random from the cabinet, poured himself a glass, then locked the bottle back in the cabinet without taking a glance at the label.
Adelaide sat across from him in her own armchair; she was reading aloud to Sébastien who was perched in her lap. Her words were meaningless to Javert, lost to time as he stared at the document, willing the words Julien Devere to disappear.
But they didn't.
"Gabriel!"
Javert snapped from his reverie, both his wife and son were looking at him expectantly.
"Oui?" he answered Adelaide. "What were you saying?"
"I was telling Sébastien that it's time to say bonne nuit to his Papa," Adelaide replied.
"Oh, is it that time already?" Javert frowned, gazing over at the small clock that sat on the mantle above the fireplace. "Alright, Sébastien, come say bonne nuit."
Sébastien pulled out the puppy dog eyes for his mother, "But Maman-"
"Sébastien!" Adelaide snapped. She didn't have patience for this now; she was concerned about her husband. Javert wasn't much of drinker, mostly just at social events or when something was wrong, and he certainly didn't like to drink in front of their son. So for him to pour himself a drink meant warning bells were going off in her head. Add that to the fact that he had been rather moody and jumpy, always staring at that document and that she had to use his first name twice today, Adelaide was very worried about her husband.
Meanwhile all Sébastien could think about was that he had struck out with the puppy dogs eyes both times he had pulled them that day. He must be losing his touch.
Javert folded up his document and shoved it back into his pocket as Sébastien scampered into his father's lap. Adelaide watched silently as the father hugged his son, placed a quick kiss to Sébastien's forehead, and ruffled the boy's wavy blonde hair.
"Looks like you're going to need a haircut soon," Javert smiled for the first time that night, the sight of his son always put a smile on his face.
"Next week," Adelaide answered as Sébastien pawed away his father's hand and smoothed the hair back down, not that anything could tame to curly mess when it got long, not that that ever lasted long. Javert had apparently decided the boy was going to have a career in law enforcement, and had begun grooming him for it. Part of this grooming was ensuring Sébastien had short, uniform haircuts. While Sébastien was still rather young, Javert let it slide when it got longer than it should, but Adelaide suspected that leniency would disappear when Sébastien got older. "Alright, come on Sébastien, bedtime."
"Bonne nuit, Sébastien," Javert gave the boy one last squeeze before releasing him.
"Bonne nuit, Papa," Sébastien hopped out of his father's lap and scuttled towards his mother who ushered the boy towards his bedroom.
"Go get into bed, I'll be there in a minute," Adelaide called as Sébastien disappeared into his room. When the boy was gone, Adelaide turned back to her husband, who was absentmindedly staring into the fire. "So, I'll tuck him in for the night, then I'll work on the dishes while you go take care of Gy, and after that I want to talk to you about something."
Javert was silent for a minute, then, as if he hadn't been aware of her speaking, he looked up and blinked, "Huh?"
Adelaide bit back a scream, "I'm going to take care of Sébastien, you deal with your horse, then we are going to talk."
A slightly panicked look crossed his face, "Why would we need to talk? There's nothing to talk about."
"There's something I want to talk to you about," Adelaide clenched her hand tightly, her nails digging into her palms as she withheld an outburst.
"But there's nothing to talk about," There was a nervous strain in his voice.
"Javert-"
"Nothing!"
Adelaide bit her lip as frustrated images of responses that were less controlled and more violent, flashed through her mind. In all honesty, the fact that her husband would easily overpower her in seconds was a major deciding factor in choosing not to act out any of them. She merely settled for an exasperated cry and storming off into Sébastien's room, slamming the door behind her.
"And now she's mad at me. I will never understand women, Gy," Javert brushed the horse's mane. The assistant guard had developed the habit of talking to the horse about his problems as he readied Gymont for the night. Adelaide had told Javert that it was supposedly therapeutic for him because he knew Gymont would never reply, and it was nice for him to get his true feelings out.
Javert had responded by asking why all who went by the name of Enjolras had to find meaning in everything. Sometimes a man just talked to his horse because he wanted to talk to his horse. Or that they just simply had a habit of walking on the ledges of tall structures, not because they believed themselves morally superior and trusted God to not let them fall.
"I swear Gy, an Enjolras will be the death of me one of these days," Javert shook his head. The horse tossed his head, flicking his tail as he whinnied in response. Javert smiled and patted the horse's neck, "Alright, it's time to sleep. Down boy."
Carefully, Javert helped the horse down, fixing the bed of hay around the animal. As Gymont settled down on the cold ground, Javert once again wished that he had the funds to build Gymont a proper stable. Unfortunately, due to the fact that he had a family to support and hadn't received a pay raise in seven years, Javert couldn't afford such luxuries. That wasn't to say the Javert family was poor, Adelaide had brought in money to the marriage, and her husband made more than the average assistant to the guard. Plus, Adelaide had about 300 francs sitting in a bank in Paris, waiting for a rainy day. The small fortunate had been inheritance from her mother's aunt, Adelaide being one of the only surviving Astiers for her great-aunt to leave anything to. A few distant cousins of hers had received the majority of the old woman's possessions, but apparently Great Aunt Marguerite had had a fondness for Jacqueline and wanted to leave a little something for Jacqueline's daughter.
Javert remembered the details so vividly because it had been the cause of his and Adelaide's first real fight as a married couple. She and Léonard had planned to go to Paris in order for her to accept the inheritance as well as attend the funeral out of respect for her mother's bond with the old woman. Unfortunately, Carine heard out it (as she always did), decided that she and Jérémie needed a break from Toulon, and invited herself along turning the originally five day visit into a month long vacation. Javert hadn't been able to arrange to take off a month from the Bagne, and after a rather lengthy fight between the newlyweds, it was decided that he wouldn't go at all.
He also remembered the fight because it had been three months into their marriage, and due to some rather strong timing factors, Javert knew that their "making up" the night before she left for Paris had led to the conception of Sébastien.
Smiling to himself as memories of that night flashed through his mind, Javert gave Gymont one final tap on the neck as a gesture of wishing the horse good night. Javert glanced over at the house window that looked into the kitchen area. He could see Adelaide work on cleaning the last of the supper dishes, her jaw was set and she was practically murdering the dishes, no doubt still angry at him for his behaviour earlier. Javert frowned thinking about Adelaide's harsh words to him before she tucked Sébastien in, he had acted wrongly against her being.
Moving slowly, he made his way back to the house thinking about how angry badly he had treated her today. There tonight when she was just a concerned wife trying to talk to her husband, not understanding what his issue had been. Plus he had yelled at her that morning for something so stupid as letting Sébastien play alone outside again. He needed to stop being so angry with her, after all, she respected him and trusted him, and she deserved the same from him. After all, why shouldn't he trust his wife?
Suddenly Javert stopped.
Sitting in front of him, lying forgotten in the grass was Sébastien's ball. That only meant one thing, she had let Sébastien outside alone again.
…Oh, this wasn't going to be pretty.
"Everything good with Gy?" Adelaide asked washing the dishes as she heard the door close.
"Is he asleep?" Javert glanced toward Sébastien's bedroom door.
"Uh huh," Adelaide replied drying off a dish adding it to the stack of newly clean ones. "Why?"
"You know that I hate fighting in front of the boy," Javert looked to his wife, hand clenching the ball being held at his side.
"We're having a fight?" Adelaide glanced back at her husband as if talking about the weather.
"Oui," Javert nodded.
"Alright," Adelaide placed the dish she was working on, down and threw the dishcloth over her shoulder as she turned to face her husband, arms crossed. "What about?"
Javert placed the ball on the counter.
"Oh," Adelaide stared at the ball, "that."
"You let him out alone again," Javert was seething. "After your promise this morning, you still-"
"I didn't let him out alone!" Adelaide snapped.
"Then how do you explain this?"
"I forgot to check if he brought it, I had other things on my mind at the time."
Javert scoffed, "A likely story."
Adelaide raised a brow, "Knock that off."
"Knock what off?" Javert crossed his arm behind his back, taking a posture not unlike the one he did when speaking to the prisoners at the Bagne.
"That!" she gestured to his pose. "Stop treating me like one of your prisoners, and show me some respect!"
"Respect?" Javert snapped advancing forward. "How am I supposed to respect you when you won't respect me? When you disobey a direct order-"
"Order?" Adelaide grabbed the dishcloth from her shoulder and snapped it down on the counter. "Ok, Javert, let's get one thing straight here, I'm not your nanny, I'm not your maid, I'm not your servant and I'm certainly not one of your prisoners. I am your wife! I do the chores because I choose to. I take care of Sébastien because I choose to. I let you be the breadwinner because I choose to. I could afford to hire a housekeeper for us, a governess for Sébastien and keep this family economically afloat without either of us having a job. But I choose otherwise because I know how important it is to you that you provide for your family, that you have a purpose in life. And I respect that! So all I ask you that you respect me by believing me when I say that I didn't leave him outside alone!"
"Then how do you explain the ball?"
"Like I told you, I forgot to check if he had it," Adelaide was seething, she really didn't want to tell Javert why she had forgotten… at least, not like this.
"How could you forget?" Javert demanded.
"Because Renée LaFleur came by."
"I don't see how a social visit from Renée LaFleur could make you forget-"
"It wasn't a social visit!" Adelaide screamed. She stopped and took a deep breath, "It was a professional visit."
Javert froze. A professional visit from the town midwife? But that must mean…
The assistant guard's eyes gazed down at his wife's stomach, "You're pregnant?"
Adelaide sighed, collecting herself, "Non. I thought I was, but I'm not pregnant."
"Why did you think you were pregnant?" Javert frowned, glancing back up to meet her gaze.
"Lately? I've been tired and… and feeling weak," Adelaide admitted. "And I thought since I never really got sick when I was pregnant with Sébastien, that I might not be sick at all the second time around. I've been feeling this way ever since that cold back in September."
She was referring to when Adelaide and Sébastien had fallen ill the previous month. Javert hadn't been sick because if there was one thing her husband liked to brag about, it was his iron constitution. Adelaide doubted there was anyone in Toulon that was unaware that Javert hadn't even had so much as a sniffle in the last thirteen years. In fact the last time he had been sick was when a real bugger of a flu had hit the town and everyone, even Monsieur Iron Constitution himself, had caught it. Now that she thought about it, it had been during that sickness that she had first met Javert. Her father had been short staffed due to the flu, so the Bagne spared three guards, one of which was the twenty-two year old Gabriel Javert who met the sixteen year old Chief Inspector's daughter when she brought her father his lunch.
Though he never would admit it, Adelaide was certain she had caught Javert doing a double take when she walked in the door that day.
Now, thirteen years later, he stood having wedded, bedded and father a child to her, absolutely dumbstruck that she had thought herself pregnant.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Javert asked his voice barely above a whisper.
"Because I wanted to make certain if I was before I told you," Adelaide replied, and Javert sighed looking down. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"About what?" his voice was off hand, not taking in her words.
"What was in that letter."
His head snapped up.
Adelaide frowned gently placing a hand on his arm as he turned away, "Darling, s'il vous plait, tell me what's upset you so. You've been so angry and jumpy ever since you read that letter."
Javert sighed, and then he placed Sébastien's ball on the counter, "Do you remember the morning after our wedding?"
"Oui," Adelaide smiled, remembering that love filled morning, with its caressing touches and stolen kisses, experiencing everything for the first time and learning each other.
Javert was frowning though, "Do you remember what I told you when you asked why my mother didn't attend the wedding?"
Adelaide nodded, "You said that there is but one thing I will ever ask of you and that is to never ask about my mother."
"Correct." Javert removed the letter from his pocket, "Adelaide, what do you know about my mother?"
"Well," Adelaide thought hard, "I know that she's a gypsy that had you inside the Bagne. I know she was involved with a convict, that she, ahem, had male clients, and I know she taught you about the stars."
"She's not actually a gypsy, at least not a Romani," Javert said. "She's just one hell of a con artist. She does it all, palm reading, tarot cards, divination, crystal ball, you name it, and she probably does it. She even lives in a caravan and took a gypsy name, Gitana, which literally means Gypsy, all to complete the image. The truth is that her name is Béatrice Thibault, who was thrown out by her parents when she was sixteen for messing around some no account rich boy and became a con artist and prostitute. At some point she became involved with a man who got her pregnant, and they both ended up getting arrested. She got a lighter sentence due to being a pregnant woman, and gave birth to a boy that she for some reason decided to make up a last name for and named him Gabriel Javert."
"Alright," Adelaide frowned, "but what does that have to do with the letter?"
Javert sighed, "For the first five years of my left, I slept in the caravan, but once I turned six, I had to sleep outside. Sometimes she fed me, sometimes she didn't. She would leave me alone in places for long periods of time and sometimes not come back for days. When I got older she sometimes used me in her illegal activities. Eventually I learned it was wrong and refused, but life with her was miserable. So, the day I turned sixteen, I left her a note, and when nothing but the shirt on my back, I left my mother and never looked back. I got a job at the Bagne and lived there until I saved up enough to buy a small property next to the Bagne that I fixed up, and, well you know the rest. I left my mother, but she never really left me. She keeps an eye on me, but she never approaches me unless she needs something."
Adelaide took the letter from her husband when he extended it to her, but he kept the other document by his side. Her eyes ran over the letter, it was cordial, but to the point.
"She wants money?" Adelaide looked up at her husband.
"She only writes me when she gets herself in trouble with the wrong people and needs bailing out. If it's not a Claquesous, then it's a Babet," Javert fumed. "If it's not a Babet, then it's a Brujon. It doesn't matter who it is, she always needs money."
"So you're angry because you have to send her money?"
"Oh, Dieu, non! I never send her money! Sharing blood or not, I'm not about to support a criminal lifestyle. I don't care if it was her, you, or even Sébastien, I won't tolerate the association of criminals if one wishes to remain under my roof."
"Then thank goodness Sébastien won't be associating with any criminals," Adelaide looked over the letter again, not even considering that there could ever be a rift caused between the father and son. Suddenly a thought occurred to her, "Why have I never heard about this before? We've been married for five years."
"Because the last time I received one of these letters, it was six years ago, about a month before our marketplace incident," Javert replied.
"So, what makes this one different?" Adelaide asked, sensing the issue.
Javert sighed, "When I left her, I left behind a great many of my possessions, including some of my important papers. I guess she knew I wasn't going to give her money, so she decided to try to convince me to give it to her by sending me my baptism certificate."
"Are you going to pay her for the baptism certificate?" Adelaide frowned as her husband offered the document to her, and she took it and glanced over it.
"Of course not, if you left your wedding ring at an inn, and the innkeeper tried to sell it back to you, would you give him the money?" Javert asked.
"Fair enough," Adelaide shrugged, "so what's the problem then?"
Javert shifted awkwardly, "My mother never showed it to me while I lived with her."
"And?" Adelaide pushed.
Javert went silent, "I've never known the name of my father until today."
Adelaide frowned and her eyes went down to the line that read: Name of Father.
"Julien Devere?" she read out in confusion.
"He's one of the prisoners in my group," Javert finally admitted, fully ashamed and worried of his wife's opinion of him now.
"Oh, Mon Amour!" Adelaide instantly set down the papers and took him into her embrace, "you don't need to explain anything, I understand why this upsets you. Just know that I'm here for you, and this changes nothing about how I see you. If this happens again, I'll be understanding of anything you need."
"Merci, Mon Amour…" Javert smiled, holding her tight before slowly breaking apart.
Adelaide's sympathetic smile faded, "But don't think that means that when you're in a bad mood you get to be grumpy, and snappy and drinking in front of Sébastien, you come talk to me first."
"Agreed," Javert laughed. "Look, I'm sorry. I have acted wrongly against you. You were concerned about my wellbeing and I treated you with harshness and distain."
"It's alright," Adelaide looked away.
"No it isn't," Javert pushed away the papers and ball. "If I had done that in my professional duties, my superiors would I have punished me. I must not serve myself any less in my private duties."
Adelaide raised a brow flirtatiously, "So does that mean you want me to punish you?"
"Perhaps," Javert smirked. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her into him, "Why? Did you have any ideas?"
"Huh," Adelaide was coy. A small smile played on her lips as she stroked the side of his face. Her hand came to a rest at the base of his jaw and ran her thumb over his bottom lip, "You know, I might be able to think of something."
Javert took a silent moment to observe his wife; this had been the first time he had really taken a good look at her in a while.
She really did look tired.
"So," he gently took the hand thumbing his lip, and pressed a soft, respectful kiss on the back of her hand. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
Adelaide tilted her head, a pleased look on her face, "I thought you weren't listening."
Javert smiled, "I'm always listening. Now, tell me, what did you want to talk about?"
"Well," Adelaide hesitated, "you already know the first part. I was going to tell you that I had thought I was pregnant."
"And the second part?" Javert wrapped his free arm around her waist, both now holding her close to him.
"Well, I was thinking…" Again she hesitated, carefully wrapping her arms around his neck. "Did you… Maybe we could… I mean-"
"Adelaide?"
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as if bracing for impact, "Did you maybe want to try?"
Adelaide cracked an eye open.
Javert was frozen.
"Try?" he practically squeaked. "Try for what?"
"Another child," she gently replied. "I mean, I know we never talked about more children, but we've been married six years and Sébastien's going on five this April, so I was thinking that if we did want more children, maybe now would be the right time. I mean, honestly, I'm surprised I haven't gotten pregnant again by now."
"More children?" Javert repeated clearly missing more than half of her statement. "You want more children?"
Adelaide's face fell, "You don't?"
"It's complicated," Javert sighed, moving an arm from her waist to rub his face. "I mean, I never really wanted children in the first place, but then Sébastien just sort of happened."
Her arms fell from his neck; she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Adelaide had always wanted several children, being an only child she had often felt lonely as a young girl. Despite Sébastien preferring solitude over the company of other children, Adelaide knew she wanted him to have a sibling.
And now Javert was saying he didn't.
"I'm sorry, I just never saw myself having a whole horde of children." Javert caught his wife's disappointed look. She could barely contain her emotions when a single tear fell down her face. He sighed, pausing to think and then carefully stroked the tear from her cheek, "Then again I never wanted to get married, then you came crashing into my life and I knew I had to spend the rest of my life ensuring your safety and happiness. So, if having another child is what makes you happy, I suppose we could try."
"Really?" her eyes lit up.
"Really," he answered and she threw her arms back around his neck and he slipped her arms back around her waist. "Besides, it will ensure my safety from an irate Chief Inspector who's upset that I made his daughter unhappy and denied him anymore grandchildren."
Adelaide frowned, "You know, if you really don't want to do this, we don't have to-"
"Shh," he pressed a finger to her lips, and then moved his arm back to her waist. "I didn't really want Sébastien at first, but now that I have him, there's nothing that could tear him from me. Besides, maybe this one will look like you."
"So, we're trying?" Adelaide grinned.
Javert nodded, "We're trying."
Adelaide let out a happy yelp and crushed her lips against his. They intended on it to be a simple kiss expressing their happiness, but as the kiss became deeper and hungrier, it turned into something more passionate. Hands wove into hair, tongues danced together, then his lips began trailing down her neck and pretty soon he had her pressed firmly against the counter, not unlike that morning. With a gasp from Adelaide, the two broken apart, slightly panting as their heads lowered from the clouds.
"So," Javert beamed, touching his forehead to his wife's, "did Renée say when we could start trying?"
Adelaide smiled, "She said two days from now would be the best time."
There was a silence between the two that wasn't awkward in the least, only broken by their silent panting as they both stopped to think.
"Did she say we could start sooner?" Javert finally asked the obvious question.
Adelaide laughed, "She said the sooner the better."
No sooner had the words come out of her mouth did she found herself airborne in his arms, being carried to the bedroom. He placed her on the bed, and quickly turned back to the door, locking it, as they had long ago agreed that the last thing they wanted was for Sébastien to have a nightmare or something, and then come into the room to find his parents fornicating. Adelaide agreed to it on principle, but apparently Javert had once walked in on his mother and one of her clients when he was younger, and he swore to her that that was not an image their son needed in his memory.
Once the door was locked, he was on top of her, lips crushed to hers as one of her hands played with the hair on the back of his neck, while the other worked open the buttons of his shirt. As for his hands, well… let's keep this a T rated story.
Adelaide gasped and he trailed his mouth down her neck, licking, sucking, and kissing down to her collarbone. She was forced to move her second hand from his neck down to help her first hand with the buttons. Pulling apart the final button, Adelaide moved her hands to massage his pectorals. Javert, recognizing the signal to sit up, returned his lips to his wife's as he gently pulled her up into his lap. Adelaide giggled happily into their kiss as Javert skillfully removed the garment from his torso, lips never leaving his wife's. His hands stroked up and down her back, fingering the laces that he would soon be untying, just savouring her touch and taste.
Then something happened.
Adelaide coughed.
Javert frowned and pulled back, "What was that?"
"I don't know," Adelaide looked just as confused as him. "I have no idea where that came from."
"Do you want to stop?" He asked.
"Oh, Dieu no!" and with that her lips were back upon his.
It was the first time she had coughed.
But it wouldn't be the last.
So I actually decided to cut this in half as it was getting way too long, I hate leaving you guys waiting so long, and I could reasonably end it here. Besides, now we get to see Adelaide's progression of sickness in a more realistic way. I promise that I'll try not to make you guys wait for so long for the next chapter, but I can't be sure. Just know that I try to put these chapters out as quickly as possible, but it takes a while for quality work.
As for Javert's mother I decided I'd rather she be a con artist that exploits stereotypes rather than attempt to portray a real Romani and offend people. Plus it's also a lot more fun to write a con artist who tilts between shams and reality.
And yes, I know that last scene was a little gratuitous for Javert, but this is the only real chance I get to show his physical relationship with his wife, so I figured, why not?
As for any interested parties, this chapter comes to a total of 27 pages.
See you next time.