Javert passed most of the rest of the day in bed, getting up only infrequently. The night's rest had healed him somewhat; despite being incredibly sore, he was able to walk around his apartment with only mild difficulty. He was still reliant on furniture for support, and once, while making his way back from his desk, he found he needed to stop and rest before he could continue.
Idleness did not suit Javert. He rarely took time off from work, and when he did, he spent most of the day fastidiously cleaning his apartment or doing his laundry. He rarely read; he was moderately literate, but never found any interest in books. He channeled so much of his energy into work that when he had walked around his small apartment looking for something with which to busy himself while he rested, he found nothing.
He sighed deeply. He was frustrated and restless, wanting nothing more than to return to work and his former lifestyle. He remembered Madeleine again promising to return, and Javert found himself glancing out the window impatiently, awaiting his arrival. At dusk, Madeleine had not yet returned, and Javert closed his eyes, figuring he would rest until the mayor returned.
They hit him, they hit him until he was laying on the ground, covering his head with his hands. He begged them to stop - he was only a child, barely six years old - but they did not relent. His attackers were older, but only by a few years.
He cried and begged and pleaded, the first few times. They shouted insults at him, insults he was still too young to understand.
"Son of a whore," they called.
"Stupid gypsy scum!"
Their voices grew deeper and he slowly opened his eyes, peering up. It was no longer the young boys from earlier, but Bamatabois and his friends. He, however, had not aged. He covered his head as their kicks and insults continued, and tried to hide his loud sobs. He had given up pleading with them.
He kept his eyes shut tight, knowing that any minute he would be saved. Any minute, he thought, someone will surely arrive and stop this.
Help never arrived.
Javert awoke to a hand on his upper arm, and another one pressing his hand. He opened his eyes and saw the mayor had, after all, returned. Based on the dim light coming from the window, no more than an hour could have passed since he fell asleep.
"Javert," Madeleine said, barely above a whisper and with an air of concern. "Are you alright?"
It was a dream, he thought. Just a nightmare. A memory. It's over.
He looked around the room, trying to remember why Madeleine was seated at his bedside.
I was attacked, he thought. And Madeleine saved me, carried me here. He's tending to me.
Suddenly, he realized how pathetic he must have looked in front of the mayor; not only had he been unable to defend himself against a group of drunks, but now Madeleine finds him in the throes of a nightmare? He wrenched his hand from Madeleine's grasp. Madeleine sat back in his chair and gazed down at Javert with an expression of something that was not quite concern. Javert tried to place the expression. Uneasiness, perhaps?
"I was raised in a poor orphanage," Javert blurted.
Madeleine looked at him, and Javert again had trouble placing his expression.
"I was born in jail. My mother died during childbirth, and my father was serving a life sentence. I was taken to an orphanage shortly after I was born. The other children,"
Javert faltered.
"We did not get along," he finished.
Yes, it's uneasiness, Javert thought. To this point, it had seemed Madeleine was only reluctantly assisting Javert, and Javert realized Madeleine was just as duty-bound as he was. He's not here to look after me; he's here because he saw someone get injured, someone without a family or a wife or anyone else to look after him. It's his conscience that brings him here, not his heart.
Madeleine let out a long sigh and looked at Javert, as if encouraging him to continue. Javert closed his eyes, mostly so he would not have to look at Madeleine's face; he could not stand those weary eyes, those eyes that seemed to be constantly disappointed with him.
He felt Madeleine press his hand and immediately flinched. Madeleine did not let go, and Javert relaxed into the touch.
They stayed like this for a while, Javert with his eyes shut and Madeleine gently squeezing his hand. Javert tried to calm himself down, and found the mayor's grasp to be, once again, strangely comforting. He considered what it might be like to have him hold more than just his hand, what it might be like to have those two strong arms around him, pressing him to his chest, protecting him.
Realizing what he was thinking, he again pulled his hand away from that of Madeleine.
"Monsieur le Maire, I apologize," he muttered.
"No need," he responded. "I've brought you supper."
Javert sat up, unaided this time, and Madeleine passed him his supper. He realized he had barely eaten in almost a full day.
After a few mouthfuls, Javert set down his fork. "Were you just watching me sleep?" He asked, forgetting himself.
"I had only just arrived when you awoke," Madeleine said. "I intended to be here earlier, but there was an issue at the factory."
Javert nodded and returned to his meal. Madeleine waited patiently while he ate, seemingly lost in thought. Once finished, Javert placed the plate carefully on his nightstand.
"How are you feeling?" Madeleine asked. Javert again noticed the hesitation in his voice, as if he had been debating whether or not he should ask.
Javert found himself torn between wanting to snap at him for treating him like a sick child and letting himself be treated like a sick child; he could not deny the comfort he felt around Madeleine, they way, for the first time in his life, he felt there was someone who would protect him.
"Somewhat better," he managed.
"Good," Madeleine responded. He stood up, picking up Javert's dishes and leaving the room.
Javert watched him as he left. He had taken off his greatcoat and was just in his shirt and waistcoat. The look was flattering, and Javert again found himself admiring the way Madeleine's refined sense of style accentuated his muscular form.
Once he had left the room, Javert sighed, admitting to himself that, yes, he was attracted to the other man.
He heard what sounded like Madeleine washing his dishes, and tried in vain to put him from his mind. After what seemed to Javert like an eternity, he returned, picking up his greatcoat from where he had folded it over the back of his chair.
"If there's nothing else you need, Inspector, I think I will take my leave for tonight," he said.
"Monsieur Madeleine," Javert started. "You are welcome to stay the night, it has gotten late."
Madeleine eyed Javert suspiciously. "I assure you I'll be fine. Do you think you will be capable of returning to work the day after next?"
"Certainly," Javert replied.
Madeleine gave him a sharp nod. "Good night, Inspector."
Javert wondered if he could last another day in the other man's hospitality.
AN: It seems like I'm writing these really quickly but I'm not; I've released one chapter each day since I began writing it, it's just today that I'm putting them up here on . New chapter should be done by tomorrow night or perhaps Monday.
Do the chapters seem abnormally short to anybody else? I feel like they should be longer, but I feel like I'm ending them where it's most natural.
Also I've twice been told some of my wording/phrasing/dialogue isn't historically accurate so if you want to yell at me about that please do, I'm still learning and would love any constructive criticism or whatever. I literally know nothing about the 1820s someone please help.