Javert frowned, thumbing through the papers spread across the desk. The Commissaire had just had a new stack of reports brought to him, none of them encouraging. A small-scale group of disappearances was turning into a month-long massacre. At first the stories followed a logical pattern - a person or persons unknown killed a young woman and her family, and then moved on to close friends and clients. Apparently out of obvious victims but not yet satisfied with the killing spree, the murderer had next started targeting people who weren't obviously related - it was getting very difficult to track. These new reports hardly seemed to mesh with the previous pattern at all. The Inspector sighed. The worst part of it was that he had no way to warn individual people to be careful, now that the murderer had branched out to the general public, and the bureaucracy refused to let him make a general cautionary statement in the paper "lest he start a citywide panic".

Javert's mind drifted, finally settling on Jean. Just the name brought the slightest of smiles to his lips. That walk back to his house - their house, now - after speaking with Chassé had encompassed the first stage of love, shy pleasure in the company of another. Shyness turned to passion at the gate. The garden of 55 Rue Plumet was a lover's paradise, as Marius and Cosette had discovered themselves. And that night, Jean had held him close as they slept, and the world was warm and full of peace.

That was a month ago. In that time, Javert's leg had made a full recovery and he'd started going back to work. Valjean hadn't wanted him to go - with well over 600,000 francs in his bank account, there was really no need for Javert to return to playing the Inspector. Still, now more than ever, Javert recognized the importance of his job - no longer was he sweeping the streets of the unworthy sinners. Instead, he was making Paris safe for the one he cared about. Valjean hadn't been able to talk him out of it, so Javert donned his uniform and reviewed reports for Chassé.

Just as he was thinking as much, a rap came on the office door and in walked the Commissaire himself.

"Tell me you've been able to make something of that garbage."

Straightening in his chair, Javert returned to frowning. "I'd like to say that I could, but right when I thought I'd established a pattern, you gave me these." He gestured to the new papers. "Until these came in, all the murders were confined to the docks for... obvious reasons, but now bodies have appeared as far away as the Rue Delôme."

Chassé nodded. "I saw the same thing. Do you think it could be a different killer?"

"I wouldn't want to discount that possibility entirely, as there's always potential to have a copy cat, but thus far all the victims have been much the same - impoverished, cut through the throat, and left in the open as a calling card."

"Again, we are in agreement," Chassé said. "But look at this one now. Officer Beaupré submitted it."

The Commissaire handed Javert another piece of parchment. The script was spidery, dated for the previous afternoon, and had the look of something written very quickly.

Address: No. 76, Rue Delôme

Location: Back table of café

Weather Conditions: Cloudy

Start of Shift: 4:00 p.m.

Report: Subject entered at 4:27, dark hair, top-hat, long coat. Sat without ordering. Was joined at 4:29 by another man who hitherto was seated near the front of the café. Hair color unknown, long coat with hood pulled over face. Men conversed quietly. Exchanged a small item - not money, but I wasn't close enough to see the details. The second man left the café at 4:37; subject sat alone. Family entered: mother, father, small boy, all fair haired, not wealthy. Mother set a small purse next to her chair. Subject stood as if to leave, dropped a 5 sous coin which fell near the purse. Subject bent to pick it up and discreetly placed the item he had received from the second man in the purse. Subject then exited the café. My shift in the café runs until 5:00 - if someone's going to follow him, it'll have to be Cyr - he's down at the end of the street now.

When he'd finished reading, Javert set the parchment down impassively.

"Cyr couldn't catch up with Beaupré's subject," said Chassé. "He was preoccupied with another lead and didn't see him leave. Any suggestions?"

"Regarding the subject in question? No. I can think of several known criminals who might fit that description, but without more information, it's hard to make a concrete conjecture. As for this mysterious object - none of the other reports mention anything of the kind." Javert closed his eyes, trying to put together a mental puzzle to which he was lacking pieces. "None of the other reports..." he muttered aloud.

"It's possible that it was a completely unrelated exchange," Chassé admitted. "After all, it's not like Paris is lacking in shady dealings."

"True... Nevertheless, instinct would tell me otherwise. I just can't see the connection yet."

"Well, when you figure it out..." Chassé turned to go.

"Commissaire -" Javert started, but Chassé held up his hand.

"I already know where you're going with that. Don't worry, I'll send someone to tell Valjean you're spending the night here. Again."

Javert closed the corpse's eyes with a sort of reverent horror. He turned and left the dark tenement hovel, retreating to where Beaupré and the Commissaire were standing, taking notes on the site.
"Well?" Commissaire Chassé asked. "Are you satisfied?"

"Hardly. I won't be satisfied until this murderer is locked up with twenty-four hour surveillance. However, some important questions have been answered. I'm glad I insisted on coming." Javert neglected to mention that he was feeling mildly nauseous; he didn't need to let Chassé feel self-righteous about asking him not to come.

"What 'answers' have you gotten out of that dump?" Beaupré asked. "I couldn't make heads nor tails of it."

"Which is why Javert is an Inspector, and you're still an officer, Beaupré," Chassé reminded him. "What did you find?"

"First, am I correct in assuming that the dead woman in there is the same woman you observed at the café two days ago, Beaupré?"

"You are, yes. As for what happened to the boy and the father we've not yet ascertained."

"In that case, we can make at least one definite statement: the subject you observed at the Rue Delôme café is related to the case. Possibly, it was the murderer himself. It could also have been someone hired to mark the victim."

"With the object he received from the other man," the Commissaire said, catching on.

"Which indicates that more than one person is in on this. Also, we still do not know what this object is," Javert continued. "Many serial killers give all of their victims a small token - to them, it's a part of the sick game they think they're playing. If indeed this individual has a specific item he gives his victims, and we can find out what the item is, it may be easier to discover the next intended target, and thus our perpetrator. Therefore, I want a complete summary of all the items to be found in the apartment that are small enough to hold in the hand. Overlook nothing. If the same can be done at the other recent murder sites, so much the better."

"It will be difficult. The poor are like parasites - one of them dies, and the rest fight for their things. It is likely that the other houses have been looted," said Chassé, with some degree of disgust.

Javert looked disturbed by this. "Commissaire, you do not know what it is like to be so totally destitute that crumbs fallen from the mouths of others look heaven-blessed. They do not want to be poor, I assure you. I never -" He stopped. "Good day, Commissaire. Call me if you find anything. I'm going home; you can find me there."

Javert walked away, leaving Chassé and Beaupré alone. Beaupré glanced at the Commissaire out of the corner of his eye.

"You're going to let him talk to you that way?"

Chassé sighed. "If it were anyone else, I might reprimand him. However, I've only ever heard him talk back to authority once before, and that was a month ago when I told him I wanted to speak with Valjean. As it is, he's probably even right; I shouldn't have said that."

Javert let himself in through Number 55's gate. The unkempt garden was beautiful in its wildness - ivy crept over the stone flag path, wizened apple trees supported wisteria vines, heavy with fragrant purple flowers, and everywhere in between was stuffed as full of grasses and multicolored flowers as was possible; it almost seemed that Mother Nature wished to make up for the starkness of the stone in Paris with the Rue Plumet garden alone. When Javert gently eased his way through the front door, he found Valjean waiting for him, stretched out on the couch with a book loosely in hand.

"Good afternoon, Inspector. If you're looking for Monsieur Javert, I'm afraid he isn't here - off tracking down crazy murderers," Valjean teased, rising to his feet.

"Well in that case," replied Javert, who had learned a great deal about how to handle jokes in the last month, "perhaps I'll just leave until he comes back."

Pretending to go, Javert stopped when he felt Valjean's hand fall on his arm. Allowing himself to be pulled back around, he pressed his mouth to Valjean's, realizing as he did so just how much he'd missed him in the last two days. Valjean wrapped his arms around Javert's waist, and they stood there for a long moment, relaxing into each other's company. When at last they disentwined, the pair sat down together on the sofa and Valjean laid his head on Javert's shoulder.

"I thought maybe something had happened, when they told me you were staying at the office again last night."

"Just more reports - they're getting more and more cryptic as this case drags out." He explained how the criminals seemed to have left the port district, the incident at the café, and then the new victim that morning. "We had some little older woman, I didn't catch her name, come in saying that she'd heard a big disturbance in the tenement. The Commissaire sent Beaupré to check it out, and he came back an hour later totally in shock - he hasn't been assigned to a murder case before."

Valjean looked up, concern written across his face. "Don't tell me you went to go see it!"

"Commissaire Chassé didn't want me to, but I insisted," Javert said grimly. "Jean, they need me there. Beaupré means well, but he's still so new - barely out of the academy! And the Commissaire can't keep track of everything by himself. This whole operation has been underfunded and undervalued from the get-go. The bourgeois doesn't care what happens to those people, as long as none of their precious wealthy hides are touched. And the killer knows that! Even if he hates the bourgeois, he won't do any of them in to avoid giving us the leverage we need to crack down on him."

Valjean took Javert's hand. "I know. I know how much it hurts you to see innocent people dead. And you can always talk to me about it. I just want to know that you're safe."

"And I want the same for you." He sat in silence for a while, collecting himself. Valjean didn't push him. He knew Javert needed to talk, but he also knew that he would do it in his own time.

Javert said suddenly "The place was horrible. Tables overturned, things smashed on the floor - everything was ruined. And then there on the bed - it was a one-room house - her body, just totally decimated."

"It was a woman he killed?"

Javert nodded. "He'd slit her throat. I don't know if he wanted to be subtle about it or not, but if he did, he failed - the old woman who reported it heard the screams on the second floor. The blood was -" He stopped again. He couldn't bring himself to describe that image that was burned into his memory, so much so that he still saw flashes of it with his eyes open.

Valjean tenderly pulled on Javert's chin, guiding his face down to his own.

"Shhh," he whispered. "It's alright." He kissed the Inspector slowly, tracing the outline of his lips with his tongue. Javert's eyelids fluttered.
"How is it," he breathed, "that you know exactly how to make me feel better when I have no idea myself?"

In answer, Valjean coyly slipped onto Javert's lap, tracing the side of the Inspector's lean figure with his hand. His hand hovered over that place where the pelvis flares out, ridging the skin. Their month together hadn't yet brought them to this point. Life was busy, and at night, the two generally just wanted to sleep. Today though... Valjean found that a pale blush had crept over his cheeks. Looking up through his eyelashes, he found Javert looking back at him with dark grey eyes. The mutual consent written on both their faces was consummated with Javert lightly pressing Valjean's hand to his thigh. Both felt the invisible tug drawing them together, and the sudden desire that burned through their hearts, mingling with love, that transformed into passion.

Afterwards, neither could remember that steamy rush to undo collars and button-down shirts, though surely it must have taken several flurried minutes. Suddenly though, skin brushed skin, and electrified nerves begged for more. Javert ran his hand down Valjean's back, tracing subconsciously the many old scars crisscrossing his person. Trembling, Valjean kissed Javert's neck, stroking his long hair.

"I love you," the words came soft and unbidden, so quiet that it seemed more like a thought than speech.

"I love you, too," Valjean whispered back.

Javert stroked a spot in the center of Valjean's chest where the skin was puckered in a permanent burn - 24601.

"I'm so sorry for this," he muttered.

Valjean's good humor was aroused. "And I'm sorry for knocking you to the floor with an iron bar that one time. I told you before - everything is alright."

Valjean was inclined toward jest, but after the day he had had, Monsieur the Inspector was more inclined to thoughtfulness. Snuggled together on the couch, neither said anything until:

"Does it ever go away?"

"What?"

There was another pause.

"This awful fear of something happening to - to someone that you love?"

Valjean smirked slightly. "No. It doesn't. But trust helps to ease it."

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life."