Chapter 3

After the incident where Javert had gone animal on them, he had doled out Valjean's punishment. He still bore the scars. The convict did not blame him. The mocking he had heard following the young man had been quite notable.

Javert had been harsh with him, the lashes had been painful. It was bearable because he knew Javert had had to bury his own protective instinct towards him. Some prideful part of him thrilled at the idea. Javert also learnt how to treat him exactly the same as the other prisoners afterwards though. No longer did he feel that brief warmth that had flared in Javert whenever the convict was near, now he was just 24601.

He made other escape attempts, but at the time of his beatings for them, he could not feel the closeness of Javert in Toulon. The idea that the man left him was more painful than being lashed, though he would never admit it. The years had passed though and his sentinel no longer reacted to him as a person.

However, Valjean observed the feeling, kept a mental note of it and placed it to the back his mind, along with ideas of how to cope if Javert ever left the jail... If he- No! When! When he left Toulon. He would leave, but Javert would not join him. These days, the most he saw of Guard Javert was usually out whatever pit of filth, looking down on them.

Recently, he mused as he helped haul an old, battered ship into the docks for repairs, recently Javert had been projected a lot of misery in his direction. It made him want to hold his sentinel close, but it had been many years since Javert had allowed him near.

He joined in the miserable song of the convicts, sung often to help them haul in time. Look down... Look down, Javert. Look down and see me with those sharp eyes. See Jean Valjean, smell him! Feel him... Look down. Guard Javert.

He realised, with a jolt, he did not know Javert's name. His family name, yes. But with the precursor of Guard, gypsy, sentinel... no first name. He frowned, thinking... he could not imagine him with a name. It sounded harsh, but Javert was simply his.

He shoved the thought violently back down. It had no place. He shut his eyes, pulling in time with the others and tried to remember the woodlands he saw in his dreams, the large grizzly bear that that joined him in there. It was calming, the thought of joining the bear, ambling through the trees...

There was usually something following him, in his dreams; dangerous, but not a threat. He always felt at ease. As they shuffled slowly back, the chains weighing them down, Javert stepped in front of him.

"Retrieve the flag." Valjean mutely turned and squatted. He did as his sentinel asked. A smug feeling drifted so softly through him that he was unsure if it belonged to himself or Javert, or even one of the other convicts.

"Now, prisoner 24601. Your time is up and your parole's begun. You know what that means." His sentinel's voice, oddly soft and speaking more words to him than he had before. His sentinel's voice, granting him his freedom.

"Yes," He smiled, taking his yellow passport, "It means I'm free."

"No... Follow to the letter your itinerary. This badge of shame you'll show until you die. It warns you are a dangerous man." His sentinel was looking at the yellow parchment in his hands. He wanted those eyes on his face.

"I stole a loaf of bread." He looked at the guard imploringly, willing him to understand. "My sister's child was close to death! We were starving..."

"You will starve again, unless you learn the meaning of the law!" How could this man be his? He did not seem to know compassion. Their eyes met and Javert seemed to be trying to say something else to him. He allowed his own disgust to intercept it, to stop this message reaching him. If Javert had something else to he, he ought to say it aloud.

"I know the meaning of those 19 years – a slave of the law!" He dropped his eyes, once again allowing the negative emotions of those around to wash over him like a horrible wave.

"5 years for what you did, the rest because you tried to run." Not that he regretted that much. The thought of never meeting this man, even if it meant his avoiding jail, left another of those unpleasant feelings in his stomach. He could have finished his sentence and just missed the arrival of a still baby-faced Javert. "Yes! 24601!"

"My name is Jean Valjean!" To hear it from those lips would be a pleasure, he decided, even if it was snarled.

"And I'm Javert!" He felt a moment of ill humour. He knew who this man was. This was his sentinel. His Javert, still no first name...

"Do not forget my name." Urged Javert, leaning close. Valjean leaned back, lest he grab the other with his hair curling where it escaped from his hat, soaked in the spray of the sea and the sweat that dripped down his face. It was desirable. "Do not forget me, 24601."

He would not, but he turned from the man, watching the remaining few prisoners exit. He stepped up, out the docks, away. Free. He could feel the sentinel's eyes tracking him. He could not feel the man though, his own shock pulling his weight up and away. Free to leave. He could not believe it.

He stumbled his way along, feeling the breeze so cool on his neck; his unchained neck. It was lovely. He was free.

It was less than a week later when he realised the odd pain he had was not hunger. It was an emptiness that could not be filled with food.

It was not rejection, despite the fact that the yellow paper had him refused entrance to so many places. It was an emptiness that could not be filled with company.

It was not even poverty, though that he did feel like a keen knife edge. It cut into him and the salt rubbed in was his severed wages in comparison with lazier men. It was an emptiness that could not be filled with material wealth.

He wanted his sentinel. The harsh man that filled him with anger, the man whom he wanted to both beat and protect. Angered, he stalked through the town, feeling their rejection more harshly than usual. Settling down to sleep outside the Cathedral, he was irritated when an elderly woman questioned his presence. He was not a threat. How could he explain that he could feel their pain? He would not hurt them. He did not correct her when she called him a soldier, he took her 4 sous, and then he followed her suggestion to see Monseigneur Bienvenu.