A familiar face or two? Perhaps another...
Arms folded over her chest, chin sunk down, and eyes shut tightly, Cécelie lost herself in overwhelming thought. In the core of her breast, her heart still raced, her mind reliving that moment passed not minutes ago. A hand shoving her backwards, broad shoulders protecting her, a growl of desire, a whisper of a blade. And then, a warmth around her hips again, at once protecting and threatening. Her pulse could not quiet itself, pounding with fear, throbbing with desire. Faces spun uncontrollably through her mind. Then faces became images, then images sounds. Dizzied and disoriented, her stomach convulsed, nearly making her wretch against the wall. Her hand outstretched, Cécelie braced herself against the building's cold bricks, praying that someone would save her from this pain, from these thoughts.
"Pardon-moi, Mam'selle." A gentle female voice stirred the swirling vapors from her mind, and Cécelie opened her eyes once again. The first thing she noticed was the wide white brim stretching out on either side of the lady's head. Beneath the white wings of a wimple, golden brown eyes smiled at her. "Here, my child. Take this and go home. Rest yourself today." The kind, wrinkled face lit with a smile as her hands withdrew from the black cloth of her habit, pressing five gold francs into her hand.
Cécelie pushed it back at the aging nun, smiling coldly in return. "Oh no, Sister. Your charity is not for me. Leave me alone, if you please."
"God's charity is for everyone, my child." Her smiled did not wane, and she pressed the coins back into Cécelie's reluctant hands.
With a huff, Cécelie shook her head exasperatedly. "Surely someone more deserving can use this. I do not need it, honestly. You do not understand, Sister." The nun simply smiled, taking a single step away and burying her hands within the folds of her dress once more. Cécelie threw her head back, certain that Javert would return at any moment to catch her disobedience. Unintentional for once. With an impassive smile to her face, she let the coins fall from her hands, clinking one by one on the cobblestones at their feet.
The nun's gentle brown eyes glanced down to the spilled coins, then slowly rose back to examine Cécelie's face. The loving light in her smile had not diminished. "I understand enough to know that you seek a forgiveness and a love that you cannot find without God. I understand what it is to suffer from a broken soul," her voice trembled softly with age.
The mask of indifference faded from her face, and Cécelie's mind was soon drained of thought. She stared gaped-mouthed as the nun retrieved the francs from the ground, placing them in Cécelie's hand one last time. The nun closed the fingers over the smooth gold. "These cannot heal you, but it will help you, my child." She made to walk away, pausing for a second. "If you seek healing, if you seek the love of Christ to release you from this world, go to the chapel on the Rue de Bac. We Sisters of Charity always have a place for you, my child."
Glancing down to the francs, the gold seemed to smile at her in her palm. She stuttered and shook herself out of her hazy thoughts again. "Wait, Sister. What is your name?" she called.
A few feet away, the woman turned around, smiling gently once more. "Sister Clémence, my child." Then, she continued on her way.
Watching her until that black dress and those white wings disappeared, Cécelie shook herself. She forgot the weight of the metal in her hand. Rue de Bac, she logged the place in the back of her mind. A place, nothing more. Shaking herself again, she would think no more about it.
At that moment, she felt a tug at her skirt. Opening her eyes, she half expect to see the Inspector's glowering face hovering over hers. Instead, as she looked up, there was nothing.
"'Scuse me, Mam'selle," a young voice said, tugging at her skirt again. Her eyes lowered, scanning the boy's grimy face; the streaks of filth and muck hardly left any pale skin visible. His dark eyes shone with a youthful cockiness as he tipped the brim of his cap. "I couldn't 'elp but notice that ye didn't really wan' the nun's money. Think ye migh' wanna pass it off on a poor, 'ungry urchin like me?"
"Uh..." Cécelie's eyes darted dazedly from the gamin's face, to the coins, and back again. She smirked humouredly. "Only if you leave me alone."
The boy nodded his filthy head, a cheeky, gap-toothed grin spread from ear to ear across his muddy face. "Sure thing, Mam'selle," his words whistling through the hole in his teeth. His hands greedily shoved the francs into the top of his stained stockings, the metal bunching in coin-shaped circles around his ankle. The whites of his eyes glimmered in curiosity as he straightened. "Jus' one thing, dearie, I know I 'aven't seen you abou' before. New to the streets, eh?"
Cécelie's brow rose in amusement. "You could say that... dearie," she teased the endearment back down at the boy. "Now, what about holding your end of the bargain. You have your prize, now leave me—" she glanced over her shoulder to the doorway— "for your sake, not mine."
"Alors, Chèrie, you listen to Gavroche's advice now. Ye'll ne're get customers leanin' against this wall." He beckoned her down to listen closely, speaking behind the back of his hand as though he shared a great secret. "The best clients go to Mistress Rosette's 'roun these parts. Lot'sa rich students who want warm and enthusiastic company." He winked at the very end, a cheeky final punctuation to his advice.
Cécelie threw her head back in laughter, her arms gripping around her waist at the innocent boy's clear and total lack of innocence.
The boy Gavroche threw his hands up in frustration. "Ye don' believe me? Go try it yerself. It's always like I say..."
"Clear off, boy!" A growl sounded from beside them, and a firm hand gripped the gamin's shoulder, tossing him with a flick of his wrist five steps backwards. Javert spun around to stare Cécelie backwards into the bricks behind her, a wide scowl over his face, his green eyes glowing with rage. "And you, what about you seems incapable of listening to me?"
Gathering himself, the boy brushed the stained sleeves of his chemise off, paused to eye the pimp and his whore, and then padded around, circling closer to the two of them. "Well, wha' do we 'ave 'ere?" He bounced up and down on the tips of his toes, his head cocked arrogantly to one side as he flashed his gapped smile. "Good t' see ye again, Inspector. Been awhile since ye last came 'round these parts, ain' it?"
"You," Javert sneered. "I have enough against you, boy, to have you locked up for the rest of your miserable life." His fist clutched threateningly, shaking in anger at the boy's face.
"Shame, eh, Inspector? 'Cause it looks like ye don' want anyone to know who ye are. Why else would ye look like that," the urchin sneered back, folding his arms confidently over his chest. "Seems like ye want yer secrets kept, Monsieur, which means I keep me freedom..."
Javert's sneer widened, bearing his teeth, narrowing his eyes to mere slivers. He barely managed to nod his consent.
"An' I wan' something more." The boy pushed his luck with the Inspector an inch further, relishing the power with a laugh. "I wan' five francs."
Cécelie interjected with her own laugh at the absurdity of it all. "I just gave you five francs, boy."
"I wan' five more," the urchin grinned boldly at her, "or I'll scream bloody murder that the police is 'ere, an' ye wouldn' wan' that."
Javert dug into the inside pocket of his tweed coat, staring darkly at Cécelie, his thick brows furrowed so low over his eyes, she could barely see their green shine. "Where in God's name did you get five francs?" he growled, withdrawing his purse and grabbing a handful of gold coins.
Cécelie simply shrugged and shook her head as innocently as she could, trying to withhold the absurd, irreverent laughter that threatened to burst at her seams.
His glower turned on the urchin. "Here. Take it and clear off." He pushed ten francs into the boys eagerly greedy hands.
"Merci, Monsieur l'inspecteur," he mocked a bow to Javert before shoving the coins in his pockets.
Javert's hand pushed the gamin on his way. "Enjoy your freedom while you have it, Gavroche," he snarled.
"Don' worry yerself over that." With one last haughty smile over his shoulder, he made his way back down along the Rue, whistling cheerfully through his teeth until he was out of sight.