Valjean kept up his silent vigil. He watched as Javert lay on the bed, face paler than the blankets surrounding him. He watched as the wanderer squirmed in his sleep, his fever too high for him to get some decent rest. It had been a few days since they had arrived in the town, but he seemed to be improving from when they had first gotten here.
The doctor had come and gone, leaving behind a small amount of medicine; he claimed it would start to clear up the infection, but the men did not have enough money to afford a full batch. Valjean had felt the anger ripple through him. How monstrous that man was; he could clearly see the young man suffering and he did not care.
"Ab imo pectore..." Whispered Javert. Valjean looked up at him to see those fever bright eyes focussed on him again. This sudden change to Latin, while frustrating, had happened during the doctor's visit. It had confused both the men for a moment when the boy on the bed suddenly switched language, but the doctor had claimed 'delirium' often came with high temperatures.
Valjean just supposed it was easier to speak in the first language you knew when you felt unwell. The older man desperately wished he had learnt Latin though; Javert kept focussing comments on him and he had no idea what the boy was talking about.
He was just a boy though. Lying flat on this bed with his hair curling with the sweat it soaked up, Javert looked very young. Valjean got up and dunked a cloth into the bowl of water. It was not particularly clean, but the water was still fairly cool.
"Shhh, it's fine boy. You get some rest."
Javert moaned lightly, twisting up to meet Valjean's hand. He clasped a hand weakly around his wrist.
"Vitam aeteram." He mumbled, and then started giggling. Valjean understood that one though. 'Life everlasting' was a common phrase in Mass.
"I am sure it does feel like a long time, but you are not ready to join a new one yet. Are you awake enough for some medicine? Here, I'll help you swallow."
The young man managed to swallow some without spilling it, but he collapsed into Valjean once it was down.
"Let's get you lying down again." He muttered, but the boy slung his arms around his shoulders and pressed close to his chest. Valjean smiled slightly, dropping a kiss to the thick, sweaty hair. "In a minute then."
"Thank you." Breathed Javert, and a large grin came over the convict's face.
"Get some sleep."
In the cold light of the morning, Valjean looked at Javert's box again. Now that the boy was sleeping comfortably, some things struck him as odd. First were the cards. There was a stack of cards inside, bound up with string. He had not looked at them individually, having seen only the top one; an old man with L'ERMITE written across the bottom.
He wanted to ask even more about the phials inside. One had been opened at some point, the wax seal on it broken; around the edge was a viscous substance. Valjean recognised it as the type of oil his cell mates had often tried to barter for. The type necessary for... penetration. He flushed.
It felt wrong to imagine Javert using the oil when he was lying sick upon a bed; to imagine the boy on his back, the oil slick on his fingers... where those fingers would go. He resisted a moan, trying to clear his thoughts. He tried not to imagine that oil on his own fingers; his own fingers in between the young man's legs.
Valjean stood up and went to stand by the window, his blood racing fiercely. He let out a long breath. He ought to wait till Javert was better to ask about such things.
"Valjean?" He heard his name called gently.
"Javert? How are you feeling?"
"Valjean?"
"Would you like some food?"
"Cold."
"We can sort that in a minute. You need to eat first, then I'll change the cloth on your leg; the doctor left me some fresh ones."
Javert smiled, nodding his head and sitting up.
"I feel better."
"You have been out for two days."
"Oh."
"Come here." He muttered leaning down to press a kiss to his lips.
"You waited here with me?"
"Where else would I go? You are here."
Javert flushed slightly but said nothing else, accepting the bowl of broth, cold though it was.
"Do you..." began Javert as he put the bowl down, "What are we going to do next?"
"Wait for you to improve... After that, I am not sure. We can't wait too long in case they start looking for us."
"Oh."
"Any ideas?"
"I can have a look later." But Javert settled back down, eyes falling shut as the fell back to sleep.
Valjean put the bowl back on the table and gave a last glance at the sleeping man before heading out the room. He headed out into the town to look around – perhaps he could find someone to hire him for a few days.
"Please," he spoke to an elderly woman by the church, "do you know where I may find some work?"
"What is it you are looking for, boy?" She looked up at him with a kindly expression.
"Boy? I'm 32... But, pruning, gardening. Oh, I can do heavy work as well."
"I can give you a few days, but nothing more. You'll have to look elsewhere after."
"Thank you."
He went back to her home and took note of what she was wanting. It was nothing difficult, even though it had been more than 7 years since he had last done such work.
"Thank you for hiring me. Thank you greatly. I am afraid I must leave though, as my friend is ill."
"Of course. I shall expect you in the morning." She then watched him leave with a smile.