A/N- Hahaa! I'm rereading Words of Love, just to entertain myself, and man is that some terribly written Sue-ful fanfiction! And I thought it was my magnum opus!

Deep in the labyrinthine sewers of Paris, a thief called Montparnasse stood nervously over an unconscious whore.

Now, we must remind the reader that it is relatively... or rather, extremely... uncommon for the devilish dandy to be described as "nervous" in the presence of a whore, and especially an unconscious one. It is, in fact, far more common for him to be completely self-confident in such a situation. However, the circumstances, as the reader certainly recalls, were somewhat out of the ordinary.

This whore, the reader will remember, was not a whore at all, or at least, not mentally. Physically, she could have been quite successful in her profession, but the problem remained that she was, in fact, a he. And, of course, she was not just any old "he": she was Javert, Inspector, first class. She had tried to throw Montparnasse in jail several times, and this is why the poor boy had to make such an awkward decision at this moment.

Montparnasse felt a sort of duty to this... girl... considering it was he who had brought her into the sewers of Paris in the first place. In fact, if it hadn't been for his intervention, Javert would probably still be sleeping safely in a sack under the chair of a drunk in the pub on the corner of two streets called "rue" half a block down from Jerry's Bait Shop—you know the place. Such was not the case. In his greed he had taken the bag from the drunk, and here they were. The girl had awakened, told him that she was Javert (and that he would have no luck with her, much to his own disappointment) and then she had succeeded in almost being... used... by the entire Patron-Minette. Montparnasse had intervened just in time, and, upon realizing what had nearly happened, Javert had seen fit to faint.

Now, Montparnasse did not want to leave Javert in the sewers to be "used" by anyone who happened to pass by. Nor was he entirely sure how to revive her, as the classic jug of water is unlikely to be found nearby when one is deep in the labyrinthine sewers of Paris. Thus he was in something of a quandary. It occurred to him to ask himself whether this Javert was indeed unconscious, or if the overwhelming shocks of the last few hours had, perhaps, stopped her poor shriveled heart and caused an early death.

It was then that he felt extremely awkward.

He knew somehow that a dead person can sometimes be revived by having air forced into their lungs from another's. Perhaps he had seen this performed, or perhaps he found a CPR manual that had been sucked through some sort of a space-time continuum vortex wormhole thingy. In any case, this idea surfaced in his mind.

Putting his mouth over that of an unconscious whore was not what concerned Montparnasse. It is likely that he had done this before. What concerned Montparnasse was that the whore was, as has been clearly stated, Inspector Javert.

So he continued to puzzle in the darkness.

"Well," Enjolras asked irritably, "it is done?"

Grantaire frowned a little. The waitress had told him that a young gentleman with black hair and a flower in his buttonhole had taken the whore, which was really not something he wanted to think about in depth. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to feel the wrath of Enjolras if he told him what had happened, and it was unlikely that the Javert whore would ever be seen again. He heaved a great sigh before answering that the whore had been disposed of.

Enjolras smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Excellent."

Montparnasse poked Javert with the toe of his boot. She did not respond. Every moment he spent puzzling was a moment in which the man sunk further into death. He rolled his eyes, turned Javert over onto her back, opened her mouth, and leaned close.

Their lips touched, and Javert's eyes flew open.