Les Hommes de la Miséricorde
(Men of Mercy)
A/N: Hi all! Thank you again for the wonderful feedback on the last chapter! You are all wonderful! Just a note here on Marius: while this fic is a mixture of the original novel, musical, and movie, Marius is largely based on his musical counterpart in how he reacts to learning about Valjean. Just wanted to make that clear before you actually started reading in case there was confusion. I do hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
Chapter 10: Of Broken Fevers and Broken Codes
The first thing Enjolras feels is damp, damp like someone threw droplets of warm water all over him, his sheets, and his clothing.
He opens his eyes slowly, wondering for a moment, if he's dead.
The multiple pairs of eyes staring down at him and the footsteps rushing down the hall tell him he's not. One face in particular is very close to his own, blue eyes bright with nervous energy.
"You're alive!" Gavroche exclaims, sounding nearer to his normal self than Enjolras has heard in days.
"Should I…not be?" Enjolras questions, eyes flickering briefly to Combeferre, remembering brief flashes of a conversation, of the trembling voice of his usually undeniably steady best friend.
"Am I dying?"
"You're not well. But we're doing everything we can Enjolras, I swear to you."
"Well, things were touch and go there for a bit, my friend," Courfeyrac says, and Enjolras turns his head, warming a bit at seeing the familiar grin. "We really thought you were almost in the gra…"
"Courf!" Feuilly exclaims with an anxious yet amused shake of his head. "Tact, please."
"You're worse than me," Grantaire mumbles, and Enjolras looks up, noting that he smells slightly of wine-which is nothing new-but his eyes are also reddened from what looks like tears.
Just how bad off had he been? He remembers hallucinating, although vaguely, remember snatches of moments.
"I don't know, R," someone's voice says, teasing, but still fond. "I'd sooner take a class in tact from you than Courfeyrac."
"The beautiful women of France don't seem to have any problem with this 'lack of tact' you mention, Marius," Courfeyrac adds, but he's still smiling.
When on earth did Marius get here?
Enjolras turns so fast it makes his head spin.
Literally. Or at least if feels like it.
"Easy Enjolras, easy," Combeferre says, easing him back down and arranging the pillows so he can sit up a bit more.
"When…Marius, when did you get here?" Enjolras asks, baffled, eyes running over his injured friend. "How?"
"Cosette came and told me you were ill," Marius answers. "And I simply had to come. We were just very careful about transporting me. Besides, I look a sight better than you do. Going to tell me I'm impulsive?"
"Not this time," Enjolras replies lightly. "Because I know I would have done the same in that circumstance. I would chide you for mocking the sick, but…"
"You're too sick?" Marius finishes, smirking.
Enjolras smiles slightly, eyes flickering over Monsieur Fauchelevent, Cosette, and Grantaire's sister Adrienne who is also somehow miraculously here, before falling on his mother, who sits so close to his bedside that the arm of her chair touches the edge.
"How ever did you get here?" he asks, reaching over for her hand when he sees it shaking violently. He can only imagine her worry over him. He's been close to her, always, and knows the fighting she puts up with from his father to make trips to Paris so she can see him.
"Monsieur Fauchelevent found Adrienne and I while we were walking the streets looking…" she answers, cutting off in mid-sentence, giving him the very urgent sense that she's leaving something out, but he doesn't yet have the energy to press the matter. "And brought us here to all of you."
"You continue to be our savior monsieur," Enjolras says, turning his attention to Fauchelevent. "You and Cosette both."
"It is nothing," Fauchelevent says humbly, a small smile curving at his lips.
"It is everything," Enjolras protests. "You saved all our lives, brought my mother here, brought Adrienne here, opened your home to us."
"I'm pleased to help you," Fauchelevent answers, fully smiling now, and an inherent feeling of safety overcomes Enjolras, a feeling that surprises him and yet does not all at once. And yet there's anxiety in Fauchelvent's eyes…
"I sense there's something you're not telling me," Enjolras says bluntly, already feeling weary.
The room falls silent, the relieved grins fading from faces as quickly as they'd come upon Enjolras' awakening.
"What?" he asks, throat tightening.
It's his mother who answers.
"The police," she says, squeezing the hand that grasps hers. "They've already posted fliers of your face around Paris. They've started looking for you. For anyone who might be with you."
He knew this was coming.
He knew it was coming and yet the knot that has taken residence in his stomach twists violently for the sake of these surviving friends, these friends who have come so far that he cannot allow anything to happen to them now.
They'd hadn't sought death, but they'd been willing to accept it if necessary, if inevitable, for this cause that meant so much to all of them.
But now that they've survived…
"If it is necessary for me to turn…"
"Rene," his mother says, touching his face and forcing him to look at her. "Do not even think of finishing that statement."
"I second that," Combeferre adds, stern.
"As if you think we'd let you out," Grantaire says, almost laughing. "I haven't had nearly as much wine as usual, and I can block that door all day long. Bahorel taught me a few tricks."
Grantaire stops abruptly, a moment of silence reigning in memory of their so recently departed friend, the mere mention of his name sending a slice of pain through Enjolras' chest, still so fresh, so new, the idea that their friends won't simply burst into the room. Eventually the sharpness will reduce to an ache, but Enjolras knows it will never completely cease hurting them all, these losses.
"You are all stubborn," he mumbles.
"We could say the same about you," Feuilly says with a good-natured smile. "Perhaps that's where we learned."
Enjolras can't help but smile in return.
"Marius' grandfather has graciously offered us use of his home outside Avignon," Fauchelevent says, looking around at all of them. "But until that home is prepared, I am considering, if necessary and when possible, a move to my second home in the Rue Plumet, as it is larger. For now however, Cosette and I are going to talk to Toussaint about preparing breakfast."
Then without giving any of them a chance to argue or to lament that his kindness was too much, he sweeps from the room, Cosette giving Marius a soft kiss on the forehead before following him. Adrienne exits in much the same manner, kissing Grantaire's cheek and following Cosette.
Enjolras watches the two women go, thinking that they are just as brave as any men he's known. He feels his mother's warm hand on his cheek, his attention coming back to her.
"The doctor is coming back later to check on you," she says, using nearly the same tone she had when he'd acquired influenza as a child and didn't want to stay in bed. "But in the meantime you listen to Combeferre, alright? I can't lose you now, not after you've already been saved."
He nods, and she presses a kiss to the top of his head, a rush of deep, unadulterated affection rushing through him, so he pulls her in as best he can with his weak body and injured arm, embracing her.
"I love you," he whispers into her hair. "And I'm sorry."
It's not an apology for who he is or what he's done, it's an apology for the hurts he knows it's caused her, because he knows it isn't easy for a mother to watch her child dive headfirst into a cause that might very well kill him, but his mother is unceasingly courageous.
"I love you too," she answers, returning the embrace. "And don't be sorry, don't ever be sorry, just…listen to your friends. And follow all directions given to you about getting well." She pulls back, running a hand down his cheek. "I'll leave you boys alone for a bit, shall I? Give you some time to talk."
And with that she exits with all the grace they boys have always seen in Enjolras, leaving the seven revolutionaries and Gavroche alone.
There is a moment of quiet, and Enjolras looks over at Combeferre, noting that he looks ready to burst with something.
"Go ahead Combeferre," he says. "I know you've had your lecture about my recovery prepared for hours."
Everyone laughs at that, and just for a moment, Enjolras feels some of the tension leave him.
"You are on complete bed-rest for two weeks, the only exception being this possible move to the Rue Plumet," Combeferre begins. "After that you will still need a great deal of rest, as none of us are willing to risk you coming down with another infection, so we will take it slowly. You will have that sling on your arm for several weeks, and we will need to find a cane for you somewhere, as that leg will make it harder to walk for a while. You will have to take some medications for a period. It will just take time, Enjolras, and I know that isn't what you want to hear…"
Combeferre stumbles over his words in a way that is most unlike him, and Enjolras has another flash of memory from the previous night, remembers seeing tears leak from Combeferre's eyes.
"It's alright Combeferre," Enjolras says sincerely. "I will do whatever you say, I promise. We've all been through something hellish, and my being ill has only made it worse."
Combeferre looks a smidge stunned, but grasps Enjolras' arm briefly in response.
"We almost lost you, Enjolras," Grantaire says, voice still quiet, and Enjolras sees Combeferre meet Courfeyrac's eye for the briefest moment. It's clear something happened with Grantaire last night, but he suspects they'll tell him in time. "We've lost so much…we can't lose you, too."
It's one of Grantaire's rare and unmasked moments of pure emotion, and on impulse Enjolras reaches out and presses his hand, offering him a smile. Grantaire stares for a moment before returning the gesture.
"And if you even think of trying to turn yourself in," he continues, recovering his normal expression. "Don't." From his place beside Grantaire, Gavroche nods seriously.
Courfeyrac seems to sense Enjolras' argument coming before it does.
"I see that look," Courfeyrac says, a glint of concern in his green eyes. "We are in this together. Always together. They take one of us, they take all of us. Now, didn't we have something to tell Marius?"
Marius sits up a bit straighter, looking nervous.
"Something to tell me?" he asks, glancing at Courfeyrac.
"Something Grantaire overheard while Monsieur Fauchelevent helped us escape," Courfeyrac says. "I don't know that you remember, but he took us through the sewers."
"I have one very vague memory," Marius says. "But the only reason I gathered we'd been in the sewers was from the amount of filth on my person when we arrived at my grandfather's home. What happened?"
"We all waited while Monsieur Fauchelevent went outside to look, still carrying you," Grantaire says. "And the inspector who infiltrated the barricade…"
"Javert," Gavroche adds, cutting in.
"Javert, yes," Grantaire says. "He confronted Fauchelevent, called him Valjean, 24601…"
"A…prisoner number?" Marius asks, bewildered.
"That's what we gathered," Feuilly says. "But from what Grantaire could pick up, there's some kind of history between Monsieur Fauchelevent and Inspector Javert, as if Fauchelevent escaped under Javert's watch."
"It didn't sound like the first time he'd let Fauchelevent escape," Grantaire replies.
"But he let him go with me?" Marius asks. "That…"
"Doesn't make sense," Combeferre interjects. "But we're not going to understand unless we speak with him."
Enjolras keeps his eyes trained on Marius, who looks more than a little shocked, but there's a sort of resolve building in his expression.
"Marius?" he asks. "What are you thinking?"
"I'd like to know the truth," Marius says honestly. "But truthfully? I don't care what he was in the past, because first of all, he's clearly been wonderful father to Cosette, and second of all, he's risked life and limb to save me, to save all of us. Whatever he might have done in the past, it just doesn't matter."
"That was our line of thinking," Enjolras answers. "But we'd like him to know that he doesn't have to hide who he is from us."
"But we're also not sure he wants to talk about it," Grantaire says. "Do you think Cosette knows the truth?"
"I'm not sure," Marius says. "I do know she adores her father. But I'd rather not put her in the middle of it; speaking with him directly seems best."
"I agree," Courfeyrac says. "I suppose it's only a matter of timing. Right this moment doesn't seem…right."
"No, it doesn't," Enjolras agrees.
"I think we've rather been through enough in the past few days," Combeferre says. "Let us collect our thoughts and ourselves and then wait for the right moment. It's not about accosting him; it's about letting him know that we don't care who he's been, and showing him how grateful we are for everything's he's done."
"Well said," Enjolras says, nodding.
Silence falls again, and Enjolras feels Combeferre's eyes on him.
"Speaking of Monsieur Fauchelevent," he says. "He acquired some clothing for us, and I think it best to get you out of those sweat-soaked things before Doctor Figeuron arrives."
Enjolras consents, and allows Grantaire and Feuilly to help him to a chair while the damp sheets are changed, grateful to feel the warmth of their skin, the beating of their pulses when they touch him.
They're alive, and that is Enjolras' light in what feels like an overwhelming dark.
Javert's shift is nearly over when he's called into Prefect Gerard's office.
He knows what this is about.
He knew this would happen, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself.
So despite the fact that he rather feels as if he might be ill, he rises from his immaculate desk, straightens his coat, and walks to the Prefect's office, his expression a mask of professionalism.
"Javert," Gerard says, gesturing to the seat in front of him. "Do have a seat. And close the door, if you would."
Javert does as asked and then sits down, folding his hands neatly on his lap and looking to his superior.
"You wished to speak with me, monsieur?"
"Yes, and most urgently," he replies, leaning back in his chair. "As you know, nearly all of the insurgents at the various barricades around the city were killed; I'm sure some managed to escape, but that is the nature of these things. However, as far as we know all of the known leaders were killed in the battles. All but one. The leader of the last barricade to fall. You infiltrated that barricade, did you not?"
"I did monsieur." Gerard doesn't ask him how he escaped, and Javert is glad of it, because it would only mean being forced to lie, would only mean directly keeping the information from his superior that he had allowed a convict to go free WITH an insurgent.
"And you were there for the aftermath and discovered that the leader of that particular barricade was missing?"
"Yes monsieur. Enjolras. We thought some others might be missing but…"
"Some of his lieutenants, I'm certain," Gerard interrupts. "But it is Enjolras himself the king and those closest to him are interested in; if we crush the leaders, those who follow them will be far too frightened to continue. He is to be made a public example of, when he's found, and I'd like you to lead the investigation into his whereabouts."
Someone punched him the stomach without him noticing, Javert thinks. Surely, surely that happened, otherwise why does it feel rather difficult to breathe?
Just because Valjean escaped with the Pontmercy boy it does NOT mean that he escaped with Enjolras and his remaining lieutenants.
It might.
It's something Valjean would do, saving those schoolboys.
You know where he lives, he tells himself. You could easily go there.
Except that would mean seeing Valjean, the convict who gave him back his life, would mean seeing his daughter, who subsequently saved him from throwing himself into the river.
You could lead the investigation astray, lead them elsewhere.
Except that would be, once again, going against his code.
And now going against his job, against his orders.
"Javert?" Gerard asks, one eyebrow raised. "Do you consent?"
"If you think I'm the best man for the job, monsieur," Javert answers.
"I do," Gerard says. "I do." He softens ever so slightly. "It's unfortunate, the deaths of all those young men, and although it seems a shame to shed more, high treason is not something we let go, and Enjolras was already a problem as far as riling up the citizens of Paris; he will play for his crimes against the state, will pay for all their crimes, and he will stand before the public firing squad as an example to other potential revolutionaries. It is the only way for Louis-Phillipe to establish that he is a strong monarch and will not stand for further insurrection."
"Enjolras is well known and liked around the city for his speeches," Javert says, and he hardly sounds like himself. "And the people are already rioting in the streets over the bloodshed of the young students, of the workers who were also involved, in such difficult economic times."
Gerard states at him, utterly perplexed.
"I never thought you might be sympathetic to their cause, Javert," he says. "And of course now the people are angry, but the people are easily swayed; they did not rise to the cause as the students expected them to. Their rising now is of little consequence."
Javert wants to tell him that he wasn't there, that he didn't hear the screams of sobbing mothers and sisters, didn't see the glassy-eyed faces of boys who had been alive with idealism mere hours ago. He's handed out justice without question since his first day on the force, but something about those damned schoolboys…
But they broke the law, and for that there is no clemency.
But then if that's true, why is Valjean still free?
I am the law and law is not mocked…
"I'm not sympathetic to the cause," Javert replies, voice crisp and clear again. "I shall start my preliminary investigation and then report to you."
"Good man," Gerard says, shaking his hand.
With that, Javert exits the office, sticking his hands in his pockets because he's certain they're trembling.
Arresting this insurgent could be his chance at redemption for his failure to arrest Valjean.
But then, if Enjolras is with Valjean, then arresting him means seeing Valjean, means the temptation to arrest him too, after so long.
But he knows he can't arrest Valjean, knows in the deepest recesses of his mind that it would be wrong.
Here he is again, at the precipice. His conscience or his duty?
I will cover all other possibilities first, he tells himself. And then and only then will I go looking for Enjolras at Valjean's home.
For the time being, he contents himself with that thought.