Of course he's not going to say the night, Javert thought bitterly. You have likely offended him with the mere suggestion. By Christ, you are an adult,Javert. As is he. You are both adults, you are both men.
Javert shook his head, as if he somehow expected that to rid his conscience of thoughts of Madeleine.
It did not.
Javert stayed in bed after the mayor's departure, but sleep did not come easily. He was too caught up in his thoughts of the man. He recalled the way he looked, towering over Javert, illuminated by the street lamp after having come to his rescue. He remembered that firm grasp that aided him back to his rooms. The hands that checked his body for injuries, the heat that spread through him as they brushed his thighs...
He faltered.
Is that really what you want, Javert? His hands clenched.
Perhaps not, he forced himself to think. He had simply been bedridden for too long. He had not been to work, he had not been about his normal routine. He certainly harboured no affection for the mayor, beyond that which an inferior must feel for the mayor of his town. He had been too long holed up, too long with nothing to do but lie in bed and think about when the mayor might return.
Javert's own hand found his thighs and traced over where the mayor had touched them. They ached, but the pain was not so bad Javert had flinched at Madeleine's touch.
It is not the mayor, Javert thought, still cursing himself. How could he demean the man in such a way? He had arrived in this town a stranger and had done so much to improve it. Madeleine had single-handedly fixed the town's decaying economy and had done nothing but ensure his citizens were living prosperous lives. He had done nothing to deserve the way Javert thought of him now.
Javert slid his hand between his thighs, gently pulling at himself.
He tried to tell himself that was not what he was doing, that he wasn't imagining Madeleine's firm hands upon his body as he did so. With a shudder, he thought of what Madeleine might be able to do to him using that strength.
Javert forgot to think he would never, and surrendered himself to his fantasies of Madeleine.
When he finished, he found he could think of nothing else but the man's comforting grasp as he held Javert through his nightmare, soothing him, letting him know that he was safe.
When he awoke the next morning, he found himself alone.
Javert stood up from his bed, and found he could remain standing without holding anything for support. He gingerly stepped forward, testing his legs. Slowly, he spanned the length of his room then turned back, confidence gaining with each step. The previous night's rest had done wonders, and Javert was happy to see his mobility return. His mobility meant he could return to work, leave his room, get back to his life. His life outside that unrelenting longing for that man's touch.
Javert washed and dressed himself with only some difficulty. He was still sore, and found himself thankful he had this last day of rest before he returned to his duties. He needed to rest after doing washing himself, but shortly after he redressed his bed.
Unsure of what to do with himself while he awaited Madeleine's arrival, Javert pulled out one of the few books he owned, a massive tome about a former criminal turned detective. He sat upon his recently made bed, and, with an almost childish sense of escape, Javert imagined bitterly a world in which reform was more than a dream. The book did what Javert hoped it would; it took his mind from Madeleine and instead turned it back to Javert's thoughts about rehabilitation and the nature of man. Javert had sinned, but he had always known himself a sinner. If he did not appear that way to others, it was because of their own lack of understanding. He knew he would always be a sinner, had resigned himself to that fate, while still struggling to suppress it as much as he could.
He wondered if it was the same for criminals. Javert could not have controlled himself the previous night, and was it not the same for those whose trespasses broke his laws, and not God's? Regardless of any time spent in prison, of any pleas to the courts about how they really had changed, Javert imagined the urge to trespass again would be too strong. No, people could not change. He could not change.
Absorbed in his thoughts, he did not hear the mayor arrive.
"Good afternoon, Inspector," Madeleine said with a nod. Was it already afternoon? Javert wondered what had kept the man from his bedside for so long this morning.
"The same to you," Javert responded, setting down his book. He watched as Madeleine's eyes scanned over him, appraising.
"You look well today," Madeleine noted. Javert tried in vain to suppress the heat that raced to his cheeks. "You are feeling better?"
"Yes," Javert responded.
"I shall not interrupt your reading, then," Madeleine said, turning for the door.
The inspector stood up off his bed and took a step toward the mayor.
He's going to leave. The thoughts rushed through Javert's head and then through his entire body, filling him. They cascaded through his body and turned from anxiety to anger to confidence in the time it took to close the distance between him and the man he admired so greatly. He is going to leave, and this will be over. There will be no more kind mayor taking care of the injured Inspector, no more -
Madeleine stared dumbly at Javert. "Do you intend to follow me?" He asked, quizzically.
"I intended to thank you," Javert mumbled. He found himself ever so slightly shaking and cursed the uncharacteristic lack of confidence. He could feel his heart race in his throat. If he did not do something now...
"No thanks are needed," Madeleine responded. His look returned again to the uneasiness Javert had seen the day before.
Javert took another step toward the man. They were close, standing in the doorway to Javert's bedroom, and Javert's breathing was laboured. They were standing so close, Javert unable to sustain eye contact and Madeleine looking at him with those worried eyes. Those sad, weary, worried eyes that still seemed disappointed in Javert.
He screwed up his courage and closed the remaining distance between them at last. He bunched his fists into a ball, pleading the anxiety would leave him, and wrapped these fists around Madeleine's body, pulling them closer to himself. He pressed his lips to the mayor's, eyes shut tightly together.
The feeling was reminiscent of diving.
Here he was, plunging into something unknown, not knowing what awaited him. All he knew is that he had done it, he had jumped, he was standing here with his arms around this man and - Christ, Javert, your hands are still fists, that is not how you are supposed to do this - their mouths together at last.
Javert barely had time to register his own actions when he felt Madeleine pull back from him. His eyes were wide and once again, Javert stared at his face trying to decode the unreadable expression.
Madeleine took a firm step back and could not hide his surprise. For the first time, Javert saw Madeleine display emotion freely. It was not the stern, calculated, heavy expression he had worn as he took care of Javert, not the rigid barrier between whatever Madeleine might have been thinking and what he allowed others to see. His mouth hung slightly open and he glanced around the room, looking everywhere but at Javert, as if he might find, in some corner of Javert's bedroom, an explanation of his actions.
"Monsieur le Maire, I apologize," Javert said. Duty told him to keep his head up, that he would not simply stare at the floor. But he could not meet Madeleine's eyes. Instead, he bore into the man's neck, buried behind an ascot.
"There has been some mistake," Madeleine sputtered. The words were not the typical tone of the mayor, who seemed to choose his words delicately and deliberately. Surprise did not sit him; the words fell, clumsy, from his mouth. "You feel for me, in this way?"
Javert swallowed.
"Yes."
Madeleine paused, still looking everywhere but at Javert. "I must take my leave of you, Inspector," he said, desperately clinging to any shred of composure he could find. He turned toward to leave but after a few steps, turned back toward him. "I am sorry, Javert."
This time, Javert could not keep his eyes off the floor.
"I do not - I could not," Madeleine tried. The difficulty in his voice could have killed Javert. Listening to the mayor fumble in such a way was leagues more painful than his assault had been, three days prior. He forced himself to look up.
Madeleine was finally looking at him, and again stared at Javert with a look of utmost disappointment. Wordlessly, he turned and left.
Javert stood for a moment in the doorway of his room, dazed, flushed, humiliated. He returned to his bed and rested atop it, eyes boring holes into the ceiling.
He was again alone, and had the distinct feeling Madeleine would not come to protect Javert again.