Story 10: Wash Away What's Past

Author's Note: Please note that there are a few contradictions to previous chapters in this installment of Trusting Me The Way You Do. I am aware of this; but as this a series of one-shots, there isn't really a main plotline or set of facts to follow. Each chapter stands on its own. Thanks, and I hope this ceases any confusion.

Many, many thanks to BrandonMichelle for giving me the idea for this chapter. It's a bit different than I think you wanted, but I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Parts of this chapter were inspired by BrandonMichelle's own Cosette, Valjean, and a Sore Knee.

0o0

Type: Fluffy

May 22, 1824

She had been with him nearly five months now. Five months since she had been taken from the inn at Montfermeil. But she still spoke to Catherine at night of her past.

Sometimes Cosette felt that speaking to her doll as if it were actually human was silly. After all, it wasn't as if Catherine could reply to her, speak to her. But at the end of the day, she loved her doll and it wasn't as if she could speak to Papa. He would worry about her so.

And so she spoke to Catherine. It relaxed her. And as every night passed and she told another story, she felt a bit more at peace. The Thénardiers sometimes still haunted her dreams, but whenever she spoke to Catherine, the nightmares would go away.

"I was always so very dirty, too, you see," Cosette whispered one night. "You can't imagine. It's because I was always sweeping the chimney out and I'd be covered in soot. I was always going about in the streets and the woods without shoes on too. I never had any shoes. Or a proper dress. My dresses were nothing like the ones I have now, the lovely ones that Papa buys for me. Oh, no. I only had one dress. It was far too small for me and it was worn and ragged. It used to belong to 'Ponine, but she had outgrown it."

Cosette drew Catherine a bit closer, stroking her doll's soft porcelain cheek. She fumbled with the ribbons of the small red crêpe hat before going on.

"'Ponine and 'Zelma had dresses like I have now. They were all beautiful. And of course, the two little Thénardier girls were beauties themselves. I knew it, and all the passersby and guests said so too. 'What two lovely children you have!' they would say. And the pair of them would smile and giggle. Oh, but they were two little beauties. Both of them with lovely dark locks and wide brown doe's eyes. And they had baths each and every night, just as I do."

Cosette closed her eyes tightly. Some things she would rather not think about. Perhaps this was a silly idea. Perhaps it was stupid. No, now was the time to stop. The eight-year-old rolled over and murmured into her pillow,

"Anyhow, Catherine. Good night. Perhaps you and I shall visit my castle – " A small gasp escaped her.

Her castle. Her castle on a cloud. How long had it been since she had sung that song? Even dreamed of the castle? It had been such a long time. Perhaps since Papa had come to rescue her.

She hadn't needed to go there in her sleep. Since Papa had come, she'd had no need to. And so the castle had not entered her dreams, and she had almost forgotten it.

"Oh, yes. I also had a special castle on a cloud, one I made myself in my head. I used to dream about it all the time, and I'd a little song about it that I would sing, if Madame wasn't near. I'd sing it to you, Catherine, but " – she glanced at the door – "I'm sure I don't want to wake Papa."

And so she closed her eyes yet again and murmured, "Good night, Catherine…"

0o0

Valjean had been spending the past several days struggling to teach Cosette how to multiply numbers together. He knew it was rather advanced and demanding for an eight-year-old girl. But she had long since mastered addition and subtraction, and he didn't know what else to teach her in numeracy.

For her lessons in reading and writing, he had no trouble. The child struggled with her when reading at times, but overall she was doing much better than he'd expected of her. She could already read some of the stories in her book of fairy tales with little difficulty.

And so he'd decided to try and teach her multiplication. He knew he'd made a mistake when he'd brought it up on Monday, nearly a week ago. Cosette was still struggling with the concept, and to be perfectly frank, Valjean couldn't remember doing very well with his numbers as a boy himself. It made teaching her all the more difficult.

"I don't understand, Papa. Whatever do you mean by two times two?"

"Well, it means two groups of two."

"But two groups of two what?"

The past five days had been difficult indeed. But today was a Saturday, and for once, Valjean had never been relieved of it since he was a boy. That morning, he prepared the baguette and pain au chocolat. He warmed some milk and set it on the table just as Cosette appeared.

"Good morning, my sweetness," Valjean crooned, gathering her into the usual morning hug.

Cosette giggled and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Good morning, Papa." She wriggled free of his grip and made for the door. "Shall I fetch the water?"

Valjean shook his head. "No need for that today. I've already fetched it as you were sleeping."

She broke into a broad smile. "Thank you, Papa!" And she launched herself into his arms.

Valjean chuckled. "Why, you're welcome. It was hardly a great task, my sugar."

"I'm sorry I slept late. I shan't do it again." Cosette hung her head. "Please don't be angry with me."

"Whyever would I be angry with you?" Valjean asked, bewildered. Of course, he could imagine why – because when she didn't do what she was supposed to, she expected him to be angry. She was used to having someone angry at her. But he was doing everything he could to make her forget what had happened to her. Cosette didn't deserve to be haunted by the shadows of her past. And so he felt that if encouraged her in ways like this, just little things, she might eventually allow her harsh childhood memories to be locked away inside her head.

And he had to be careful not to open that Pandora's box.

Cosette lifted a shoulder. "I don't know. Because I haven't done as you bid me, Papa. I feared that perhaps you might be angry."

Valjean chuckled and scooped her up. Lifting her onto his hip, he gave her a little bounce. "Oh, no, Cosette. Nothing you do could ever make me angry with you, my sweet."

"Nothing?" she repeated innocently.

"Absolutely nothing," he confirmed. Another bounce, and she giggled, and he dropped her onto her chair. "There now, let's have a nice breakfast, shall we?"

Cosette nodded and took a sip of milk. "Yes, Papa. Oh! It's very nice when it's warm."

"Do you like it like that?" he asked her, taking his place across the table.

"It's lovely," she smiled. "I do."

"Then I shall keep that in mind."

They were silent for a few moments until Cosette asked quite suddenly, "Papa? Must we practice my multiplication today?"

Valjean shook his head. "Heavens, no. It's a Saturday, don't you remember?"

"I know…but I didn't understand it at all yesterday, and so I thought that perhaps – "

"There will be time for that on Monday, my darling. Saturdays are a day for all children to play."

Cosette smiled. "Thank you, Papa." She focused on her meal and chewed thoughtfully. "May we go to the Jardin du Luxembourg? I think I should like to play with my India-rubber ball today."

"Why, of course, ma petite Cosette. We shall go straight after breakfast if you wish."

The child's grin widened. "Oh, yes, please!" She gave a little bounce of jubilation. "The weather is lovely today, simply perfect for a walk in the park." She made a face. "It rained all of last week."

Valjean chuckled. "Very well, then, I believe that is settled. Now, if you're finished, why don't you get dressed?"

Cosette stood at once and gathered her dish. "Yes, Papa."

"Don't worry about the dishes, love, I'll wash them…"

"Yes, Papa."

0o0

The ground was muddy from the past week's persistent rain. Cosette had to hitch up her skirts to spare them from soiling on the walk to the park. The other hand held onto her Papa's.

Cosette spent quite a bit of time playing with her ball. Valjean sat on the park bench, watching her. Nothing pleased him more than to see his Cosette happy. To see her laughing against the sun, throwing a ball in the air and laughing as it bounced, spinning round and round with a smile on her face.

She was doing so very well.

Cosette was throwing her ball in the air and catching it with one hand. Toss, catch, toss, catch. However, now she threw her ball a bit too hard and it went bouncing off by the trees. Lifting her skirts, she chased after it.

The ground was terribly muddy here, she could feel it clinging to her shoes. Most little girls would wrinkle their noses in disgust, but not Cosette. She was used to grime and dirt.

There was her ball – over there, caught in a bramble bush. She bent down and reached for it, wincing as the nettles pierced her small hand. But she retrieved the ball. Her mission was done.

Cosette stood, making her way back to her Papa, but she last her balance and slipped in the mud. She let out a yelp of surprise as she tumbled, face-first, into the muddy ground. She hit the earth hard, and a whimper escaped her as she sat up. Her left knee was sore. She winced as she lifted her skirt and saw the skinned, slightly bloodied knee. The child pressed her palm against the injury before slowly picking herself up and limping back to her Papa. Her ball, which she had dropped, had rolled back into the bramble bush. It sat there, lonely and forgotten.

Valjean's heart skipped a beat as he saw his daughter limping over to him, little face covered in mud and dirt. Worriedly, he got to his feet and rushed over to her. "Ma petite, what happened? Are you all right?"

"I slipped in the mud," she whispered. "I slipped and I skinned my knee." She lifted her skirt to show him.

"Oh, my poor child," he cooed. "That's all right. There now, don't you cry. Let's get you home and cleaned up."

She sniffled. "Yes, Papa."

He carried her all the way home, despite the mud. The poor child, he didn't want her to strain her hurt knee. But to his astonishment, the girl didn't shed a tear. She did not whine or whimper. Instead, she leaned her head against her Papa's shoulder and allowed him to carry her in perfect silence.

Once they arrived home, he told her to remove her dress and to wait on the settee in her petticoat while he warmed the water. And, just like always, she did as she was told.

Cosette, meanwhile, was worried. Between her slip and her skinned knee, she had forgotten all about her India-rubber ball. It was still in the Jardin du Luxembourg. Papa had purchased that ball for her. Would he be terribly cross when she told him that she had forgotten it? Would he shout or slap her?

She was still worried when Papa called her over to the tub. She approached him grimly as she slipped out of her petticoat and climbed into the bath. She had to tell him eventually, but how?

Valjean gently wiped the mud and dirt from Cosette's face. She sat still, staring down at her hands. As he bathed her, he couldn't help but notice that nearly all of the old welts and marks had faded from her back. Only one remained, an especially nasty one that had bit deep into her skin. Cosette had told him once that mark had come from a horsewhip, and that Madame had beaten her once when she'd lost a ten Franc piece.

When she was clean, he lifted her from the tub and dried her off with a flannel towel before fetching a new petticoat and gown. A closer examination of her wound proved that it hardly needed dressing. It was just a light skinning, it hadn't even bled.

Cosette drew pictures on her slate with her chalk that afternoon. She played with her wooden animals and Catherine in her bedroom. Valjean read to her from the book of fairy stories.

It wasn't until he was tucking her into bed that night that Cosette looked up at her Papa and blurted out, "I've forgotten the India-rubber ball in the park." As soon as these words escaped her lips, she averted her gaze and Valjean noticed the way her muscles tensed.

He frowned. "Your India-rubber ball?"

Without looking up, she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Papa. When I slipped, I dropped the ball and I forgot about it entirely. Please, Papa, do forgive me…I-I'm sorry."

"Oh, ma petite," he crooned. "That's perfectly fine. We'll go to look for it tomorrow, after Mass."

"But what if it is not there?"

"Then I shall buy you a new one."

She dared to look up at him. "Truly?"

"Most certainly, my Pet."

"Thank you."

Valjean stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "There we are. Is your knee all right now?"

She nodded. "Yes. It no longer hurts." A pause, then, "Thank you for the nice bath."

"You bathe every night."

Cosette smiled. "Yes. But this one was especially nice. I don't know why, but to me it felt like the very first bath I ever took, all over again. Heavens, that was a terribly long time ago. Nearly five months!"

Valjean stopped. "Months? That was when…"

"When you took me in, that's right. It was my first bath."

Valjean was baffled and more than a little bit surprised. He knew the Thénardiers had been cruel and abusive towards the child, of course they had, but he hadn't imagined they would deprive her of baths. "Your first?" he found himself repeating.

Cosette nodded. "Well. My first proper one. I'd never had a proper bath before. Back in Montfermeil, I was never allowed to bathe in clean water. Madame would allow me a bath three times a week, and only in the dirty bathwater that 'Ponine or 'Zelma had already used."

Valjean realized he was stroking her hair, her cheek. Every time he thought of the wretched couple who had hurt his little girl, who had forced Fantine to send them money until she died, a piece of him flared in anger.

But they wouldn't hurt his Cosette again. That, at least, he could protect her from. She would never see those terrible people again, and he was sure of it.