Cécelie trembled, shaking her hands just to get the feeling of a knife from her fingers. Her eyes flickered over the two piles of blue uniforms across the bed. One for him. One for her. Of course. Javert wouldn't go without looking at his smartest while bringing in a most notorious criminal. She grinned at her own glory; his plan only worked perfectly with her appearance on the scene. Even though his machinations allowed for the situation, only she could have coaxed such a perfect confession from that bastard. It took them both. Both together. And what they might accomplish in the future...
Don't lie to yourself, her thoughts warned. You know better than to let yourself count on another man. Another volatile, violent man. Think it through before you go baring your heart again to torment for another ten years. Before you pledge your life, your love and your freedom again…
She sneered at her memories, feeling the chilling ice of protection creeping around her heart again. Sliding on her uniform, she allowed her thoughts to swirl. They flickered between memories of her abusive husband, dead and gone, tormenting her daily… to the man she helped bring to justice, how the words to pry out his confession came to her like they had been whispered in her ear… to the unexpected warmth she had found in the hands of her former jailor in bed with him. What she had desired above all else had been release. From her past. From her torment. But most of all, from her demons.
Then it hit her, the last of her earthly demons sat chained in the next room, ready for the judge and executioner. The moment she craved had come, as she stood on the precipice of freedom. Her peace, her elation bubbled within her, and for the first time since she could remember, she felt happiness.
With a bang, the door slammed open, revealing Javert, scowl across his face and fire raging behind his eyes. Without a word or a glance to her, he threw off his tattered coat, pushing past Cécelie to reach his pressed and awaiting uniform. She thought she could hear his teeth grinding as he swiftly stripped off the last of his disguise to replace it with shining brass buttons and clean-smelling navy wool.
Cécelie waited, feeling the happiness slowly begin to drain away. She gently cleared her throat and shift just a step or two closer to where he finished with his cravat, the broadness of his back still turned towards her. "Phillippe…" she ventured to draw his attention.
Which it did. With a snap of his neck, he turned the rage in his gaze fully upon her. "I believe you mean Inspector," he hissed, drawing himself up to the fullness of his height. "Especially as you almost let my prey have his way with you and slip away."
In place of happiness, she felt only the familiar sting of icy rage. And, now it was her turn to grind her teeth and seethe with anger. "After all I've done for you, Inspector," she spat his titled with deliberation. "Just for today, all the hours of details of your plan, on how to get him to say exactly what you needed, the hours spent wearing these filthy, stinking rags and letting you trot me around Paris no better than naked…" Her shoulders drew back, raising herself up to attempt to meet his height, meeting his eyes with all the ferocity she could muster. "After all the time spent doing your menial work in your office, of fucking you and pleasing you, letting you have your way with me as you saw fit…" Her hands clenched. "I did get you your man. The least you could manage was a simple mention of gratitude, Inspector."
His mouth twisted at its corner, he began to turn away from her. "Yes, thank you for nearly ruining my plans as he recognized you, for taking the glory from me and over all distracting me from enacting true justice against the blight of crime." He busied himself with gathering the tattered clothing of their costumes.
Cécelie's exasperation choked her response. She swallowed the flurry of words that longed to fly back at him. As he began to carry his effect to the door, she stepped in his path. Javert drew to a halt, the pale green of his eyes boring down into her gaze. "I hope you regret your words, Inspector Javert," she snipped. Her hand pushed off of him, accelerating her to the door that closed as quick as it had opened.
In the stillness that followed, if he was truly honest with himself, he did feel a moment of regret. His words only echoed those sowed by his latest capture. He could almost hear the criminals voice under his own. After all, had justice not been dealt all the more swiftly with her at his side? These dark emotions got the better of him. And with them, he only sunk closer to the level of these criminals. No. He must not allow for that, for anger, lust, jealousy to dictate his actions. He set the clothing back on the bed by his side, resolute now to confess his sins to her. Not for forgiveness, but absolution.
As he opened the door, to his surprise Tanville stood just down the hall, opening the door with a shout to the corner room beside them. "Attention!" he bellowed. "Jacques Tournot is dead!"