Chapter 11: In which apologies are offered

Javert barely knocked once on the door to number fifty-five before Valjean pulled it open, worry written into every line on his face. When he saw the Inspector, his eyes widened further.

"Javert!" he exclaimed. "What on earth happened? Your head -"

"It's nothing," Javert interrupted. "There was an incident this morning. I have been terribly rude - I lost track of time, but that is no excuse -"

Valjean waved this away easily. "Never mind that, man," he said. "Come inside, you need someone to take a look at that."

"I don't want a doctor," Javert griped as he stepped across the threshold.

"I'll look at it, then," Valjean called back, already bustling around in another room collecting supplies. "Sit down."

Javert looked around. In the dining room, Cosette was seated at the table, sipping from a cup. She looked up and smiled tentatively, but Javert was of little mood to navigate a conversation with her, so he only inclined his head politely and went into the salon instead, taking a seat in his usual armchair. Valjean joined him a moment afterward, carrying a dish of water and a handful of rags.

"Please don't make a fuss," Javert began, but it was far too late for that.

"Come here," said Valjean, sitting on the couch and indicating the place next to him.

Javert screwed up his face in protest. "This really is not necessary."

"Come," Valjean repeated.

Slowly, the Inspector rocked himself forward and stood. If an age passed in the time it seemed to take to reach the couch, it would not have surprised him. He sat down just as slowly, carefully arranging his greatcoat around him so it would not wrinkle.

"If you must," he capitulated.

Valjean stared at him for a moment, and Javert felt his face heat under the examination. Then Valjean reached out a hand, and in one instant of crystalline lucidity, Javert wondered if Valjean meant to cup his cheek. Instead, his fingers settled on the bandage covering the Inspector's brow, and Javert's stomach turned over in what he resolutely told himself was not disappointment.

Gingerly, Valjean unwrapped the existing gauze. He brushed against a particularly tender spot, and Javert flinched. Immediately, Valjean pulled his hand back, murmuring apologies. Javert turned his head a little to the side.

"It's just bruised," he explained.

Biting his lip, Valjean pulled the rest of the bloodied gauze off. This time, he did rest his fingers against the sharp turn of the Inspector's jaw as he took in the extent of the injuries.

"Javert, what happened?" he asked, the concern clear in his voice and eyes.

Javert swallowed. "We arrested a group of anti-monarchists for arms-smuggling and plotting treason. One of them knocked my head into the wall. It looks worse than it is," he added, as Valjean's face grew more dismayed.

Valjean dipped a rag in the bowl of water and wrung it out, then used it to wipe carefully at the scrapes along the Inspector's temple. Javert tried to ignore the proximity of Valjean's face to his own as the man leaned closer to better see what he was doing, but it was difficult. He turned his head a bit more and watched the fire pop and crackle in the grate, though it did little to distract from the warmth of Valjean's breath on his skin, or the way the man prised long strands of Javert's hair away from getting caught up in his work.

Cleaning the wounds stung, but it was tolerable. What was less so was the way every small change of position caused Valjean to nudge against him. In Javert's heightened state of awareness, every instance tingled like a shock, and he was certain his face had to be reddening. He only hoped that it was not noticeable in the fire light.

The strangest thing was the sheer gentleness of it. Javert did not know that he had ever in his life been handled quite so attentively. While the Inspector had seen plenty of physicians in his time, he did not think he could categorize a single one of them as having been gentle. Clinical, yes, but gentleness was too personal for the usual professional. Javert's tolerance for doctors was limited on the very best of days; in Valjean's case, he could not decide whether he wanted to get up and leave or sit there for the rest of the night.

Eventually, Valjean seemed satisfied. "I'll wrap it now, if that's alright," he said softly, to which Javert nodded.

Valjean pressed a clean strip of rag against the Inspector's scraped brow and wrapped gauze around his head to hold it in place. He pinned it, and then sat back carefully. On the couch, they were near enough for their knees to knock together. Javert raised a hand to his face, exploring the way the loosely woven fabric stretched over his scalp.

"You are good at that," he said, subdued. "Thank you."

"I'm glad I could help," Valjean replied, holding his gaze. He rested his hand on the Inspector's leg, a friendly gesture which Javert had to correlate with the sudden increase in his heart rate. "Would you stay the night?"

"I beg your pardon?" If Javert had not been flushed already, then he certainly was now.

"It is growing late, and you are hurt. Surely it would do no harm for you to sleep here rather than to go back to your rooms alone."

"I do not think -"

"Please." That one word was enough to silence him. "I would feel better knowing you were safe."

Javert sighed and rubbed at his nose. "If it is so important to you, I will sleep on the couch."

"But -"

"Valjean," the Inspector said quietly. "You have asked me to stay and I have agreed, but I will not remove you or any of your household from their bed. If I stay, it will be on the couch, that is my condition."

Valjean raised his hands in defeat. "Done," he said. "I will have Toussaint locate some spare bedding. And Javert... thank you."

The man stood, going to find Toussaint, but Javert sat frozen in place. The spot on his trousers where Valjean had rested his palm burned like a brand. It was a foreign sensation - did simple touches such as this usually elicit such a response? He was unsure, but he suspected not. Leastwise, if they did, no one had ever mentioned it to him.

When Valjean re-entered, a pillow and several sheets bundled in his arms, Javert stood up to meet him.

"Thank you," he said, taking the bedding. He strove not to notice the way he warmed when Valjean's fingers touched his own.

Valjean smiled. "Goodnight, Javert. Sleep well."

And for the first time in what felt like months, he did.

It was early when Javert awoke. For a long minute, he was confused, unable to remember where he was or why. Then his eyes focused on the fireplace, with its two silver candlesticks on the mantle, and the memory came back to him. It was very early. Outside, the light was grey, and the fireplace held only coals. Still, he came to discover as his vision adjusted that he was not alone in the room.

Cosette sat in the left-hand armchair, her knees pulled up to her chin under her nightgown. She was watching him, Javert could tell, and he sat up slowly, mindful of his head.

"Mademoiselle?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be in bed? The sun has not even yet risen."

The girl startled, apparently having not realized the Inspector was awake.

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed, sitting forward. "Monsieur... I believe I must tell you I am sorry."

"Mademoiselle?" Javert, still groggy, rolled into something resembling a sitting position.

Cosette chewed her lower lip. "For... for the other night," she said. "I think I was wrong to shout."

Javert blinked at her as she continued.

"It was uncharitable, accusing you of all manner of things." She sighed. "And papa... papa is very fond of you, I've never seen him quite so content, nor known him to have any visitors at all. I was just worried for him, Monsieur, and -"

The Inspector looked on in growing alarm as Cosette began to sniffle. What in Heaven's name was he supposed to do with this?

"Please, don't... cry," Javert said awkwardly. "Listen, it was a perfectly understandable reaction, and you were right, your... father and I haven't always seen eye to eye, so there's no need to get so worked up."

Cosette pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her nose. "I just wish he would trust me with whatever it is he's hiding." She looked across the coffee table at Javert. "You know, don't you?"

Javert nodded, because there was no point in denying it when she clearly had guessed the truth of the matter.

"But you won't tell me?"

"It is not my story to tell," Javert said only.

"Hmm." Cosette got up and came to sit next to the Inspector on the couch instead. "Even if I do wish you would tell me, I suppose you are a good friend for my father if you keep his confidences."

Javert was too surprised to say anything, simply transfixed by the girl who seated herself so trustingly at his side. Without thinking, he murmured, "He should be proud of you. Your mother would be, too."

Cosette's head jerked up. "You knew my mother?" she asked.

Javert grimaced. It had been a foolish thing to say, and he did not know why he had. "It was a long time ago," he tried to explain. "And our meeting was not under the best of circumstances. But that is also not my story to tell, at least not now."

Cosette accepted this with better grace than the Inspector would have believed possible, though he supposed she must be used to evasive answers. He was about to recommend she return to bed when there was a soft pressure on his shoulder. Javert looked down to see Cosette had fallen asleep and was slumped against him, an errant curl falling over her nose.

Javert was a combination of charmed and panicked, not sure what to do, but he could not help but register the surge of protectiveness which swept him. He settled for patting her hand delicately before settling his back against the couch, prepared to wait until she woke up or morning came.

Cosette did not wake, and so Javert was still sitting there, holding himself very still when Valjean entered with the first rays of sunshine. His eyes widened when he saw his daughter, though his apparent shock turned into quiet entertainment when Javert, rotating his head a fraction of an inch, mouthed "Help" at him.

"Cosette?" Valjean said softly, going to stand behind the couch and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

The girl made an indistinct noise and opened her eyes sleepily.

"Papa?" she mumbled, and then as her awareness returned, "Monsieur?" She sat up, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "Oh dear, I fell asleep, didn't I?"

Beginning to share some of Valjean's amusement, Javert nodded. "About an hour ago," he confirmed.

"Oh! I'm -" Cosette broke off in a yawn. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, you must have been terribly discomfited." Turning to her father, she explained, "I couldn't sleep, and so I came down here and -"

"And you slept," Valjean laughed. "I see. Why don't you run along and get dressed?"

After she had left, Valjean looked apologetically at Javert. "I'm sorry," he said, "she should know better than to have bothered you."

The Inspector shook his head, standing. He began to fold the blankets as he said, "She was no bother. Your daughter is actually somewhat endearing."

Valjean smiled at that, a happy light kindling in his eyes. "She is my life," he replied. "There is nothing I would not do for her."

"She also seems to be under the impression that you've grown 'fond' of me, but surely that is a simple misapprehension on her part."

Tilting his head to one side, Valjean seemed to consider him. "Why shouldn't I be fond of you?"

Javert raised his eyebrows. "Do you mean to say that you are?"

Valjean huffed a little at that. "Well, I should think I would be fond of my friends, wouldn't you?"

"And there's another thing," the Inspector said as he finished folding the bed sheets. "How can you call me 'friend' after everything I have put you through?" His expression was not quite indignant, but it tended toward that route.

If Valjean was thrown by Javert's sudden change of attitude, he did not say so. Instead, he replied, "Because whether you realize it or not, you have been a friend to me. Now, if you are quite done questioning my choice of phrase, please do come and eat breakfast before you go to the police depot."

Javert tucked into a plate of eggs with more enthusiasm than he would normally have allowed. As he ate, he could feel Valjean's eyes on him from time to time when the man would glance up from his own food. He was not sure what reason the attention had for bringing color to his cheeks, he only knew that it did. Cosette sat between them, apparently unaware of the silent exchange happening on either side.

As the Inspector prepared to leave, thanking Valjean for his courtesies, the other man stopped him with a word and a surreptitious glance.

"Javert," Valjean started quietly when he was sure Cosette was out of earshot, "you are, I assume, familiar with the Jardin du Luxembourg?"

"I should hope so," returned the Inspector, wondering where, exactly, Valjean was leading with this.

Valjean took a breath and looked around again. "I've been meaning to ask - have you ever sent spies there to follow anyone?"

Javert frowned his confusion. "Not to my recollection."

Pinching his lips, Valjean shook his head. "I was afraid you would say that."

"What is this about?" Javert buttoned his coat, looking Valjean in the face curiously.

"For a time, Cosette and I would take a walk through the gardens nearly every day," Valjean explained, keeping his voice low. "Then, I began to notice a young dandy who would come and sit on a bench nearby. It seemed he always arrived there just after we did. And he seemed to stare at us. I grew suspicious, and we stopped going."

"Because you thought perhaps he was investigating you on my behalf?" Javert's lips lifted in something like a smile. "It would have been clever, but you overestimate me - I never had any knowledge of your going to Luxembourg."

Valjean nodded, his eyes downcast.

"This to you is a bad thing?" the Inspector inquired. "I would have thought it a relief."

The older man hesitated. "There was a time when it would have been," he said. "But that was before we had come to a... reconciliation. Now, the notion that someone else might have been following me becomes more of a concern."

Javert nodded. "I can see why," he conceded, "but you said you stopped going. Why bring this up now if you haven't seen the man again? You haven't seen him, have you?"

Valjean shook his head no. "But," he said, "I found footprints in the garden. They are too small to be mine, too large to be Cosette's."

"You worry someone is watching the house." When Valjean nodded, Javert sighed. "You are right, that is troubling. When did you find the footprints?"

"Yesterday," Valjean whispered. "If anyone else knows who I am - Javert, I have to keep Cosette safe."

The Inspector rested a hand on Valjean's elbow until he seemed to quiet. "I will look into it," Javert assured him. "If there is nothing specific I must go over at the station house today, I will head to Luxembourg and have a look around. Would that suffice?"

Valjean's expression of gratitude brought the smile back to the Inspector's face. "I cannot require it of you," Valjean said. "But I would appreciate it if you could."

"Be on your guard," Javert cautioned, "for Paris has been dangerous of late, but it may well be that it is nothing."

He set his hat on his head so that it obscured the majority of his bandages and let himself out. He walked quickly in the direction of the police station, thinking hard. If there was even the slightest chance that somebody else knew about Valjean's background, it could put the both of them in a very difficult position. His resolve hardened the further he walked - he would pay a visit to the Jardin du Luxembourg. If there was a trail, chances were that it was cold, but it would give him a place to start.