A/N - The song is 'Teenage dirtbag' by Wheatus, just incase you didn't know.
"I have something to report," said Marius.
"And I have a terrible sense of déjà vu," Javert replied in a tight-lipped growl.
"I didn't know you had a 'de', Monsieur Javu! How come you ended up as a police inspector? Youngest son or something? I quite understand, my family don't like me either – "
A sarcastic exclamation of, "Oh, I can't think why!" escaped Javert, despite his gritted teeth. The Inspector seated himself and picked up a quill and a sheet of paper. On this paper he wrote: "I, Javert, Inspector of the first class, am taking three weeks leave in order to prevent the total and irrevocable loss of my mental faculties." Then, deciding that this sounded altogether too sane, he crossed it out and wrote: "I am Napoleon Bonaparte – have gone to Austerlitz. Tata"
Thinking better of it, Javert took a new sheet of paper and addressed Marius in a peremptory tone:
"What is it this time, Monsieur Pontmercy? And that's without a 'de' isn't it? Spiders in your cupboard, perhaps?"
"So, there's this man . . . and . . . and . . . his daughter, and . . ."
"You suspect that this man is a criminal?"
Marius blushed and looked down.
"Or you suspect the daughter of being a criminal?"
Marius blushed deeper and then burst into tears.
"I love her!" he wailed, "I love her! She's my sugar creampuff pie and he's taking her away!"
"Riiiight," said Javert, disdainfully proffering his handkerchief. Marius blew his nose into it lustily and deposited it back on the desk. Javert shuddered to think what it now contained.
"I'm in love with Cosette Fauchelevant and we had a secret romance but now her father has found out and he's taking her to somewhere in England only I don't know where and I couldn't follow even if I did as I have no money as I've been disowned and what I want is for you to come with me and help find them," Marius managed to blurt out in one breath before launching into more convulsive sobbing. "Help me!!" he wept, sinking down to his knees and grabbing Javert's lower legs in a bear hug under the desk. The Inspector kicked Marius irritably and stood up
"Oh, pull yourself together, you snivelling little worm!" he spat, dragging Marius back up onto his chair before resuming his own seat. "So, to recap, what you're trying to tell me is this: You're in love with some wench whose father objects to you. Can't say I blame the chap – it would be a cold day in Hell before I let you near any daughter of mine! The paterfamilias has decided to exile your little doe to England and you want my help to track them down. Accurate?"
"That's right," said Marius eagerly.
"Please, tell me you are joking! Do you have any idea what awaste of police time that would be?"
"But he's a really dodgy man – I'm sure he's a criminal or something."
"Hhhhmmm."
"He's the guy from the Gorbeau tenement – Urbain Fauchelvent – the one who climbed out the window!"
"Oh, now this is more like it! Shall we start again? Tell me everything."
"Her name's Euphrasie, but I call her Cosette. She's beautiful and gorgeous and she does this adorable likkle thing – "
"Could this get any more nauseatingly teenage?" groaned the Inspector.
In response, Marius stood up and his eyes grew misty. Softly he began to sing
WARNING! WARNING! RANDOM MUSICAL INTERLUDED!
Marius: Her name is Cosette.
I want to get married to her
can't do that yet
- I got way too much debt
For a wedding. . . and while I'm skint
My Grandpa has a mint
But he won't give me a centime.
Since he doesn't give a damn about me
Javert: Cos you're just a teenage dolt, Pontmercy!
Bet you even went to see Hernani
And read that creepy book by Mary Shelley!
Marius: Her father's a dick
They hide on the rue Plumet
He'd simply kick
My arse if he knew the truth
He acts like a con
Remember how he was gone
When you turned up back at Gorbeau
And now he's taking away my baby!
Javert: Maybe you're not such a big dolt, Pontmercy.
Could Urbain be Valjean? Maybe, maybe.
And 'Cosette' was the name of Fantine's baby
Could her dad be a con?
He's definitely suspicious
He's Jean Valjean! The idea's quite delicious
My hand starts to shake. If this isn't a fake
Then what a boost for my career!
If I catch him Gisquet will have to love me!
I will get promoted – lucky Javert!
From gypsy gamin I'll be commissaire
All thanks to a teenage dolt, Pontmercy, like you1
Javert shook himself like a dog and then remarked: "Well, I never thought I'd catch myself doing that! Wheatus – urgh! Anyway, in my considered opinion, there is a case here so I'm going to help you. We'll go to England and track them down. Then I get to drag Valjean's arse off to . . . jail, and you get to do to Cosette . . . whatever it is that young men do nowadays in this scandalous, debased and nauseatingly sentimental era of Romanticism. We leave tomorrow morning. Seven sharp. Don't be late!"
