UPDATE THREE: MONDAY 9TH OCTOBER

Disclaimer:

Javert: Annabel doesn't own me. She doesn't own any of this.

Valjean: And not me.

Clément: She does own me and Raphael, though.

Annabel: GET ON WITH IT!

Javert, Valjean, Raphael & Clément: -sigh-

Clément: And now… er… Annabel wants us to perform a little… dance number in acknowledgement of the fact that this is indeed her work aside from the borrowed characters and should not be plagiarized.

Annabel: Woohoo!

-After a short puff of smoke Valjean, Javert, Clément and Raphael appear in female cheerleader outfits with black and blue pom-poms-

Valjean, Javert, Clément & Raphael: Two, four, six, eight, whose work do we all really hate? Annabel's! Woop, woop! Annabel's!

Annabel: GYAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!

-the four men slope offstage to recover from the highly embarrassing situation-

Author's Note:

Heehee… dance, puppets, dance! –receives glare from all four- Er… well, kiddies. I've done a little homework, so a few smart people should be starting to work things out a little by the end of this chapter.

Sorry for lack of update last week – my laptop was confiscated.

I now have a plot outline and have the events of each chapter fully planned. There are going to be six chapters – but perhaps more, depending on my mood.

Right, okay. My schedule is as follows:

THIS WEEK: Update late. Study, study, study and try to fit in chapter four amidst.

EXAM WEEK: I will possibly update with the chapter I've written during this time but the Monday after I probably won't be updating as I'll have been busy all week.

Dedication: To Javert's-Wench – who, in collaboration with me, is going to drug Javert/get him drunk so we can drag him off to Los Vegas and marry him (don't think too hard on it) – and whom I also love for critiquing chapter two and sending me the picture of her gorgeous Les Mis finger puppets. :3

"Inspector, are you sure you're alright?"

"Absolutely."

Clément looked skeptical as Javert continued to pace up and down the room in a similar fashion to that of the last few minutes. He frowned. He'd never seen the inspector so agitated. Something serious must have been going on. Clément Jeune didn't study Javert's frame of mind but this sudden change of mood was thoroughly unanticipated. Jeune had seen Javert in a bad mood, but never really this stressed; and the fact that Javert, who was Clément's idol, incapable of fault, was now pacing with the agitation of… well, a normal man… that unsettled him. It was like seeing one of your parents cry – well of course, Javert wasn't Clément's father, but the subordinate viewed him similarly; and of course, he wasn't crying, he was just stressed out. Clément didn't understand what was making Javert this way. Was it him? Was it his fault? Could he possibly have done something to drive Javert into this amount of stress?

Javert stopped pacing abruptly, as if suddenly remembering he was in the presence of a subordinate. He couldn't quite grasp what it was that had just come over him. He stared at Clément blankly. "Is something wrong, Jeune?" he asked, a little mocking of the question Jeune had asked him so many times. It wasn't kind of him to attack the subordinate like this – he knew that – but somehow with all the stress of all that had gone on he'd forgotten.

Clément shook his head. "No, Monsieur." The subordinate gazed past him to his desk. Contrary to its normal condition the desk was a little scruffy – a few papers strewn almost carelessly across it; a folder, lying open with a document or two hanging out limply… Clément frowned. This was unusual, yet it wasn't quite apparent why – everyone let their desk get a little messy once in a while, but…

Well… Javert didn't. It wasn't like him to leave his desk like that. It wasn't normal. It was a decrease – a deterioration – Clément didn't understand.

Javert was still observing him with a casual, slightly cold expression. Suddenly, something occurred to the inspector and he stepped forward, reached into his greatcoat pocket for the book and showed it to Clément. "Have you seen this before?"

The movement was sudden and a startled expression came over Clément's face. Javert didn't seem to notice or care, merely waiting for a straight answer. "N-no, Inspector – what is it?" Clément inquired, shaking his head and taking the book carefully from Javert's grasp with the air of one nervously plucking a lying bone from between a dog's front paws with the constant fear that it will suddenly change its mind about leaving the object unprotected and bite.

The older man relinquished the book easily – yet with the uneasy look typical of someone unsure of disclosing a secret, wondering if this were the right person to tell it to. Clément perceived the awkwardness and tilted his head a little. Javert kept his eyes on the book, not Clément's face. "It's a file on a prisoner – a convict from Toulon prison. His name is Jean Valjean."

"I… see." Clément was now leafing through the book. "What did he do, Inspector?"

"He stole food – broke a window. He tried a few escapes and then broke parole when he was finally released; and he's still out there." Javert continued to watch the book intently. "He's nothing to do with you, of course – except I wondered if you'd put this on my desk, or if you were put up to it by Rouge or someone like that."

"No, I told you, I've never seen it before," said Clément, a little bewildered, "and Raphael never so much as mentions you when we talk… and if he does, it's usually -"

"Derogatory, I know," Javert finished the sentence for him. "Never mind, then."

He pulled the book delicately from Clément's hands. Clément dipped his head a little, and then let his arms drop to his sides. "Inspector…"

"Yes?"

"You said it wasn't anything to do with me – but what about you?" Concern was leaking into the subordinate's voice as he again dropped into the frame of mind that would have made him a formidable psychiatrist.

Javert paused. "Yes, I am directly involved," he said stiffly.

"You've met him, Inspector?"

"Yesterday," said Javert, as he shoved the book back into his pocket. "He ran off before I could question him properly."

"But the …" Clément began, then thought better of it and stopped. Javert looked at him. "Don't worry, Inspector – it doesn't matter."

After a few moments of staring contemplatively at what seemed to be Clément, but was probably empty space, Javert glanced vaguely in the direction of his desk. Clément expected him to notice the clutter, but he simply didn't – his gaze simply passed over it, and then he looked toward the door. "Ugh… I suppose not." He paused. "Jeune? I'm going to go and patrol the streets for a while. Are you going to come with me?"

Concern seemed to vanish from Clément's face, which lit up at the prospect. "I'd love to!"

One more reaction like that, and he's going, thought Javert critically, lip twitching ever-so-slightly. "Alright then," he said, feeling like a weary parent. "You go and get your coat. I'll be at the door."

Clément left hurriedly.

He's so childish. I really don't know why I'm tolerating him.

Oh, he's just a rookie. He's not hurting anyone.

Yes, well, he's an annoying rookie. The sooner he realizes he isn't good enough for this job, the better.

Javert shrugged off the thoughts and walked out of the office – into a familiar face. "Javert."

He sighed. "Raphael."

Raphael Rouge has already been introduced to this tale as a vague, sketchy figure – and we have now granted him the possession of a face. To describe that face, one would first have to picture a Egyptian Mau cat. A head slightly narrower than usual, with a sense of everything being a little elongated. A proud arch forming part of the nose – tapered, oval eyes a hazel-ish colour. Dark brown hair – short, slightly curly. Raphael's clothes were nothing remarkable. He simply wore the uniform of the time – a red and blue ensemble with a little gold. To compare him to the meeker Clément would be to compare the Egyptian Mau to a tabby kitten – the latter was absolutely pathetic in comparison. Javert, as some may have noted, has been compared at some point to a dog, putting him at least a little above Raphael in strength and authority – but Raphael, again with the inbred arrogance of a cat, paid no heed to this.

"Oh, using my first name now? That's civil. I thought you were too above me to use that," said Rouge.

Javert sighed again and shook his head a little. "Must I remind you every time we meet that I am now your superior and I command your respect?"

"You didn't command my respect when we were in training. You were a pushover."

The cat had dealt the dog an arrogant blow, but Javert did not seem fazed. "I don't care about whatever quarrels we might have had back then. I'm living in the present, Rouge."

"Hah! No you aren't. I've seen that book on your desk – Toulon, Inspector?" The title was pronounced mockingly. "God, I remember when we were in the same patrol group, and you used to walk up and down the cells just looking at them all. What were you doing? Looking for the one you were born in?"

The last attack might have been brushed off but this one hit where it was supposed to.

Javert's face darkened. The air around him was black ice – just clear of the laughing, mocking sunshine of those childish ones who use age-old techniques to bully. Raphael, of course, had absolutely no idea of the half-truth he had just spoken. He knew only that whatever it was, it had annoyed Javert immensely and thus got him his way.

"I would suggest, Raphael," said Javert coldly, "that you cease your childish taunts before I see to your dismissal."

"Oh, you'll do that, will you?" Raphael smirked slightly at him. "Well –"

Before he could make whatever cutting remark he had been about to make, Clément usefully intervened. "Oh, hello Monsieur Rouge!" he said, after glancing briefly at Javert.

"Clément – lovely." Raphael faked a relatively convincing amiable tone and transferred his attention to the subordinate – but not before casting another smirk at Javert, who simply stood there, having realized his flaw and regained his composure.

Clément smiled, then glanced over at Javert and realized that now wasn't the time for conversation. He quickly saved the situation by resuming his brightness and asking, "Well, are we going?"

If Javert were surprised to hear Clément say something intelligent he didn't show it. "Yes. We are." He started out the door with the young man, not pausing for a goodbye – though Clément waved tentatively over his shoulder.

OoooO

"You don't like Monsieur Rouge, do you?" asked Clément when they were out further on the street. Javert laughed dryly.

"Well, aren't you perceptive?" He never focused entirely on Clément, his gaze wandering about the surrounding area, carefully trained to spot anything outside the law. Occasionally he turned to look at his subordinate, but never for an extended period of time. He did this now. "No – Raphael and I have never quite seen eye-to-eye."

"I don't like him either." The way Clément said it made him sound almost a little guilty for not thinking to the contrary. Javert noticed, but didn't point it out. He hadn't ever seen Clément openly express dislike for another person.

The inspector raised his eyebrows a little. "Oh? Why not?"

"He's just…" Clément struggled to find the right expression. "When he's talking to me, I'm always wondering what emotion he's covering up. He doesn't like me, either, I don't think… or you, Inspector. He's got virtually no apparent respect for you, even though you're higher ranking than him."

He's smarter than he looks, thought Javert, and turned to look at him again. "All valid points," he said, a half-smile creeping onto his face. So they had something in common. He'd never thought that was likely.

"You think so, Inspector? I…" Clément shook his head. "I don't."

Javert looked at him. The subordinate went on. "I don't like holding things against people – or having secrets that could get them into trouble. Just…"

"I know what you're talking about." The inspector nodded. "Which is not to say I hold the same beliefs – but I do know what you mean."

Clément tilted his head, barely daring to believe that his callous superior had just agreed with him. It just didn't happen. "Really?" Suddenly Javert stopped dead, and his face expressed an emotion Clément had not thought him capable of. "Um… Inspector? Are you alright?"

"Wait – what did I just say?" Javert's voice had lost its usual bravado and he looked positively befuddled. He didn't seem to realize that in doing this he had lost authority over Clément. The subordinate was now more dominant in the situation for the sole reason that Javert was now asking him questions. Not "what are you doing?" or "will you shut up?" – "what did I just say?"

"You… said…" Clément was unused to holding the upper hand over someone as dominant as Javert. "You said you knew what I meant but didn't necessarily agree… something like that."

"Oh…" Javert seemed lost for a couple of seconds. Then his brow furrowed and he regained his composure. "Alright then." He seemed to recover almost instantly, and continued to walk down the street. Clément stared blankly at him in a sort of disbelief.

"Inspector?" His voice clearly portrayed his utter confusion. Javert didn't even look back at him.

"Come on, Jeune."

"Are – are you absolutely sure you're alright?"

The end of this was written a little hurriedly – but I'm pretty pleased with the chapter overall, though I'm almost afraid to compliment my own work with all the critics out there…

I've dropped a few very distinct hints as to what's going on in this chapter but you'll just have to work them out for yourselves as I'm giving nothing away. Clément is also about to become very, very significant, and will be revealing a lot later on.

IF YOU WORK IT OUT, DO NOT PUT IT IN YOUR REVIEW WHERE EVERYONE CAN SEE. PM ME IF YOU REALLY WANT TO COMMENT ON IT.

All will become clear later on…

Yours unusually;

Annabel, the Authoress