Disclaimer - I do not own Les Mis, its wonderful characters, the North
Pole, or Bernard (although in a few years, when I'm Mrs. Bernard, I can say
that I do . . . in a sense.)
A/N - For the record, I think that The Santa Clause 2 is a stupid attempt by Disney to get more money off a wonderful movie they made eight years earlier. I would go into detail explaining my theory in Bernard (the first movie had the real elf Bernard as himself, the second had an actor who kinda looked like him . . .) but that has little or less to do with my fic. So . . . carry on.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"For the last time, gamin, get OUT OF THIS STATION!" Javert shouted at the top of his lungs.
That gamin had been spending way too much time around the police station lately. Inspector Javert was ready to put him in for a few months if he liked it that much. Suddenly the front window exploded into flying shards of glass and a large rock landed on Javert's desk.
"GAMIN! Get your sorry self in this station IMMEDIATELY!"
The boys words drifted into the jail on the cold winds whipping through the window - "Oh, so now you want me."
"Just come HERE!"
Javert was ready to crack. The little gamin sauntered in the door, saying, "So, monsieur, you called?"
"AAAAARGH!"
Javert grabbed the boy by his dirty shirt collar and threw him into the nearest open cell, slamming the barred door after him.
"My, my, Inspector, what has you in such a temper lately?"
Javert knew that he had been much angrier than usual lately. He also knew why. His new young recruit, the one he had had plenty of hope for, had just quit.
It had occurred to Javert that he was getting old and would be gone. When he died, he wanted someone to carry on his legacy and his greatest mission - to catch Jean Valjean, escaped convict 24601.
"Ow, Inspector. I hit a soft spot, didn't I?" the gamin laughed after a moment of Javert's retrospective silence.
"That's it, gamin. You aren't going home today or tomorrow," Javert announced with finality.
"But Inspector! Tomorrow is Christmas, and Père Noël won't come unless I go home! This year I've been . . . um . . ."
"You see, gamin, you wouldn't get any presents anyway," Javert snorted. "Wait . . . you have a home?"
"Yes, m'sieur. I have a family what goes by Jondrette - I mean Thénardier . . . Fabantou? I don't know. But I have a father, a mother, and two sisters," the gamin began.
"Thénardier? I seem to know of him. Will they miss you tonight and tomorrow?"
"No, m'sieur. I don't much go home."
"Well, gamin, make yourself comfortable. It's here you stay," Javert decided.
"M'sieur, can you stop calling me 'gamin'? I mean, I know I am one, but could you call me by my Christian name?"
"And what would that be?"
"Gavroche, m'sieur," the boy responded earnestly.
"Alright, Gavroche," Javert sneered, "I will have to stay the entire night anyway, so make yourself comfortable."
"Yes, m'sieur! I will! Thank you!"
He began to speak so quickly that no one could possibly have understood a word. "Mypapawon'tmissmeeventhoughI'mnothome-"
"Gam- Gavroche. Just shut up."
"I will m'sieur, if . . . " Gavroche smiled evilly.
"If what?" Javert asked warily.
"If you'll tell me a Christmas story."
"NO."
"-AndmymamannevernoticeswhenIamhomeuntilIgethungry-"
"ALRIGHT!" That was just plain annoying. "'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring not even a mouse . . ."
Javert continued on in a monotone.
"Pardon, m'sieur?"
"I sprang from my- WHAT?"
"What's a rose suchik ladder?"
"Rose. Such. A. Clatter. It means . . . 'there came a big noise.'"
"Alright then, carry on."
"I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter-"
"M'sieur?"
"WHAT?"
"You have anger issues, m'sieur," the boy began, "but I thought you should know that that's a very nice poem. Did you write it?"
Javert winced. "Yes . . . I did."
"Oh. It's nice. Don't tell it to just anyone though. Someone could steal it and publish it and you'd get no credit," the boy said knowingly.
"What?"
"What?" Gavroche replied blankly.
Javert rolled his eyes.
"Carry on," said the boy.
Javert did, using a bit more emotion.
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight. The end," he finally announced.
Gavroche snored.
Javert put his feet on his desk, his arms behind his head, and tried to sleep.
A/N - For the record, I think that The Santa Clause 2 is a stupid attempt by Disney to get more money off a wonderful movie they made eight years earlier. I would go into detail explaining my theory in Bernard (the first movie had the real elf Bernard as himself, the second had an actor who kinda looked like him . . .) but that has little or less to do with my fic. So . . . carry on.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"For the last time, gamin, get OUT OF THIS STATION!" Javert shouted at the top of his lungs.
That gamin had been spending way too much time around the police station lately. Inspector Javert was ready to put him in for a few months if he liked it that much. Suddenly the front window exploded into flying shards of glass and a large rock landed on Javert's desk.
"GAMIN! Get your sorry self in this station IMMEDIATELY!"
The boys words drifted into the jail on the cold winds whipping through the window - "Oh, so now you want me."
"Just come HERE!"
Javert was ready to crack. The little gamin sauntered in the door, saying, "So, monsieur, you called?"
"AAAAARGH!"
Javert grabbed the boy by his dirty shirt collar and threw him into the nearest open cell, slamming the barred door after him.
"My, my, Inspector, what has you in such a temper lately?"
Javert knew that he had been much angrier than usual lately. He also knew why. His new young recruit, the one he had had plenty of hope for, had just quit.
It had occurred to Javert that he was getting old and would be gone. When he died, he wanted someone to carry on his legacy and his greatest mission - to catch Jean Valjean, escaped convict 24601.
"Ow, Inspector. I hit a soft spot, didn't I?" the gamin laughed after a moment of Javert's retrospective silence.
"That's it, gamin. You aren't going home today or tomorrow," Javert announced with finality.
"But Inspector! Tomorrow is Christmas, and Père Noël won't come unless I go home! This year I've been . . . um . . ."
"You see, gamin, you wouldn't get any presents anyway," Javert snorted. "Wait . . . you have a home?"
"Yes, m'sieur. I have a family what goes by Jondrette - I mean Thénardier . . . Fabantou? I don't know. But I have a father, a mother, and two sisters," the gamin began.
"Thénardier? I seem to know of him. Will they miss you tonight and tomorrow?"
"No, m'sieur. I don't much go home."
"Well, gamin, make yourself comfortable. It's here you stay," Javert decided.
"M'sieur, can you stop calling me 'gamin'? I mean, I know I am one, but could you call me by my Christian name?"
"And what would that be?"
"Gavroche, m'sieur," the boy responded earnestly.
"Alright, Gavroche," Javert sneered, "I will have to stay the entire night anyway, so make yourself comfortable."
"Yes, m'sieur! I will! Thank you!"
He began to speak so quickly that no one could possibly have understood a word. "Mypapawon'tmissmeeventhoughI'mnothome-"
"Gam- Gavroche. Just shut up."
"I will m'sieur, if . . . " Gavroche smiled evilly.
"If what?" Javert asked warily.
"If you'll tell me a Christmas story."
"NO."
"-AndmymamannevernoticeswhenIamhomeuntilIgethungry-"
"ALRIGHT!" That was just plain annoying. "'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring not even a mouse . . ."
Javert continued on in a monotone.
"Pardon, m'sieur?"
"I sprang from my- WHAT?"
"What's a rose suchik ladder?"
"Rose. Such. A. Clatter. It means . . . 'there came a big noise.'"
"Alright then, carry on."
"I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter-"
"M'sieur?"
"WHAT?"
"You have anger issues, m'sieur," the boy began, "but I thought you should know that that's a very nice poem. Did you write it?"
Javert winced. "Yes . . . I did."
"Oh. It's nice. Don't tell it to just anyone though. Someone could steal it and publish it and you'd get no credit," the boy said knowingly.
"What?"
"What?" Gavroche replied blankly.
Javert rolled his eyes.
"Carry on," said the boy.
Javert did, using a bit more emotion.
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight. The end," he finally announced.
Gavroche snored.
Javert put his feet on his desk, his arms behind his head, and tried to sleep.