Side by Side
Javert winced, gritting his teeth at the pain when he cleaned the blood off his cheek. That these small cuts could sting so much. Worse than a real wound. But in the great scheme of things it only made him more angry. God, if he ever got his hands on those bastards he would not be that nice anymore. The only satisfaction right now was the knowledge that they´d felt exactly the same, a few days ago, after he´d decorated their faces.
Vidocq placed a glass on the table for him, filling a second one for himself. Cognac. He raised the bottle, invitingly.
"Except you´d prefer a strong tea."
Javert growled and put the cloth down, done with his cheek. "Cognac´s all right." he said and Vidocq filled the glass.
"You didn´t come to sign the contract that day." he commented what Javert had told him. "Why?"
"We did." Javert emptied his glass in one gulp, taking a moment to let the Cognac settle down. "You weren´t there."
Vodocq frowned. "I was." he insisted, startled. "I opened the office at 8 o´clock. Each morning."
Javert threw him a glance. "You should consider adapting your service hours. Some people start working sooner than that." He refilled his glass on his own without asking. "Another lesson I had to teach Valjean. An inspector is not in a need of daylight to do his duty."
It took the smaller man a moment to realize what Javert was talking about. "You dragged Jean out of bed before sunrise?" he was genuinely baffled.
"I told him to get used to these working hours." Javert growled. "He was too used to a slacking lifestyle of retirement. That had to stop." He emptied his glass again and for a moment he felt his anger leaving him weak in its wake. But then he heard Vidocq chuckle and shot him another glare.
"You still could have come to see me later that day." the burly man said. "I assume something kept you from doing so?"
Javert was still glaring. His mood was not getting better. And the Cognac in his throat was burning worse than he´d expected. "You assume right."
...
They´d found the address they´d gotten from the priest easily enough. It wasn´t hard with a detailed map of the city. Javert knew certain parts of the city like the back of his hand but not all of it. But he knew how to make up for the human imperfection with the right tools. The only problem was that no one was there. Wouldn´t be there anymore, not today, not any day in the near future.
Neighbors told them the man moved out, rather rushed as they said. As if something had scared him to death and he´d decided to run for it. And that was probably what happened, Javert mused. Dammit.
As he stalked away from the building, Valjean held him back.
"Maybe they can hide." he offered his view on the matter. "It´s not a given that these people will find them. Maybe they get away after all."
Javert could only shake his head over so much naivety. "They won´t." he told Valjean, plain and simple. "They never can. Believe me, I´ve seen cases like that. People who think they can outrun their pursuers. They always end up dead. Always."
It was a relief to see that at least Valjean was able to get over his naivety by reasonable thinking. Javert´s words had gotten through to him, the frown he showed now, was proof of that.
"So what do we do now?" he wanted to know.
But here Javert had to admit that he had reached his limit. No tool that he knew of would help here. And the fact that he didn´t have all the tools anymore that he used to have, was not improving his mood either.
"What?" Valjean asked, seeing his dark gaze, probably guessing how many curses remained unspoken in this moment.
Javert shook his head. "If I still had men under my command, I could post someone here." he explained. "To watch the house. In case someone comes back. But this way I´m limited to you."
Valjean answered by raising his brows. "Well, thanks a lot." he made but Javert would not do him the favor and apologize for that. It hadn´t been an insult anyway. If he wanted to understand it like one, that was his problem.
He was already trying to think again, ignoring Valjean´s searching look about, when suddenly he called out.
"Boy!You want to earn some money?"
Javert stared in utter disbelieve. A dark haired boy of maybe twelve years stopped at Valjean´s question, interested, of course.
"Sure, sir." his voice was just at the verge of his puberty vocal change. "What must I do?"
Valjean handed him a coin. "Keep an eye on this house for me." he told the kid. "There´s a family who recently moved out. Their name´s Dumas. If any of them comes back to get something or for what reason ever, you follow them. I need to know where they are going. It is really important that I speak with them."
Javert couldn´t believe what he heard. Was this man serious?
"I could tell them that you look for them." the kid offered eagerly, and Javert winced.
"No." Valjean denied the boy´s offer. "Just tell me where they go." When the kid looked uncertain, he went down to hunch before him. "If you told them someone hired you for this task, they would get scared and run away and I would never find them." he explained. "But I need to find them. They are in danger, but not from me. You see. If I find them I can help them."
Javert´s feet were frozen to the ground, witnessing this scene, and that was probably a good thing. Otherwise he might have been tempted to kick Valjean for this stupidity. Telling a random kid just absolutely everything about an ongoing case? Was he insane?
"Are you police?" the boy asked and Javert´s first instinct was to answer with a harsh: "Yes."
Unfortunately Valjean was just as quick to answer: "No."
The two of them looked at each other, well aware of the uncertain glance they received from the boy. Eventually Valjean smiled at the kid.
"We … are the good ones." he assured him. "We´re trying to help." He pointed at the coin he´d given him, reminding him of the job. "Will you help us?"
The kid was still unsure but he took the coin into his pocket. "I´ll try." he promised and Javert closed his eyes. Yeah, sure.
Valjean obviously believed it though, judging by his smile. "Good." he got back up. "Try not to be seen. By no one. If you see anything, come to my house in rue Plumet. I´m Fauchelevant. And when I see you again, I will give you some extra. You understand?"
The boy nodded. "Yes, sir." And with that he was gone.
Valjean turned back to Javert, with a gaze that clearly asked for approval. And all Javert could do was stare at him in total disbelieve. Was that really happening? This could only be a dream. A nightmare.
"You really think your little story impressed the kid?" he asked. "He´ll take the money and we´ll never see him again."
"You should have more trust in human nature." Valjean insisted on his silly little world.
"I do." Javert turned to leave this place. "Human nature is selfish and deceptive." he shared this fundamental truth with Valjean. But of course this would not reach the mind of a man who believed in God´s never ending grace, even in this world. "Never mind." he dismissed the whole thing. If Valjean wanted to throw his money after slum kids for nothing, it was his choice. "I have an own idea to get the information that we need."
...
It would have been a lie if he had claimed not to enjoy seeing Valjean tense, at the sight of the police station-house. The old con was still in there, no matter how well he hid him under the fancy disguise of a gentleman. And right now he came out of his hiding.
"What are we doing here?" he asked, nervous, maybe even alarmed, and Javert smirked.
"Afraid they´ll bust you, 24601?"
But Valjean was not up for jokes. He grabbed him, made him stop. "They might bust you!" he said. "Did that thought never occur to you, inspector Javert?"
Javert jerked his arm away, still smirking. "We got cleared of the charges." he recalled what Valjean obviously forgot. "And the only reason why I´m not wearing the uniform anymore is …" he stopped himself just in time, realizing that the only thing he could have said about this, would not add anything to the matter at hand anyway. So he settled with ending the sentence simple: "… my own reasons."
"Still." Valjean insisted. "People could react … badly."
Javert only snorted and kept walking, straight towards the front door. It wasn´t his target. He only wanted to see Valjean tense one last time, maybe see him slow down or stop altogether. He wanted to see some of the old fear, or at least some uncertainty, and if it was only to be reassured that he still held some power over this man. After all. If he was ever to change his mind, Valjean would be back in prison, and this time he would stay there for the rest of his life. Sometimes it was a good thing to remind an unreliable partner like him of such facts. Maybe then he´d think twice next time he considered a stunt like that with the kid earlier. There were still a lot of lessons he had to learn.
Valjean indeed tensed, as they approached the door. But he did not slow down. Javert at last gave up on this staged act and dodged sideways, just before the front door. He ignored the gazes they were drawing from the police men around, and headed straight for the corner. He knew where to find his man, he always did.
"Dubois." he addressed the man smoking in the shadow, and dragged him deeper into the allay, before he had even time to flinch.
"Javert!" Dubois cried, startled. "I …" he glanced at Valjean, only for a second. "I heard you survived. I´m glad."
"Sure you are." Javert shoved him towards the wall, just for emphasis. "Listen. I need some help. You have access to the archives and the files. I need some information."
Dubois´ eyes were jumping like flees. "What kind of information?"
"Check out the name Dumas." Javert ordered. "I need to know if anyone of their family has ever been reported in any way connected to a crime. They could have been witnesses, victims, culprits, I don´t care. I take anything, got it?"
For a moment it looked as if Dubois would simply agree, nodding obediently, just the way Javert knew it from him, back in the days when he had been his superior. But then a smug grin appeared on the man´s face.
"Why should I agree to help you?" he asked. "What´s in it for me?"
Instead of answering him Javert just glared. When he moved at last, Dubois flinched, probably expecting a punch or another physical attack. But instead Javert just snatched the cigarette away from him, holding it up before his nose.
"How often have you left your post for these?" he asked. "Three times an hour? Last time I checked it came close." He wouldn´t allow Dubois to open his mouth and object with a lie. "You wouldn´t want the prefect to know about this, would you?" he asked and received a pouting glare for it. Just as he thought. "Check the files for me and none of this is my concern anymore."
Dubois didn´t respond. He just kept glaring.
"I guess we understand each other." Javert let go of him, after one last push, just to remind Dubois of their agreement. He raised his brows at him asking, waiting for an answer.
"All right, all right." Dubois massaged himself, as if Javert had actually hurt him. "I´ll see what I can do. We can meet in an hour, on the Pont au Change."
"Not there." Javert had to suppress a shiver. "We meet at the stables."
It was the first place that came to his mind. A place he remembered that felt safe. The thought of this damn bridge was irritating him more than he liked to admit. The stables at least were solid ground, familiar.
Dubois frowned for a second but didn´t object. "Whatever." he straightened at last. "Can I have my cigarette, please? They´re not cheap."
Javert simply dropped the disgusting thing and squelched it under his shoe without a word "Be in time." he ordered and eventually allowed Dubois to sneak away from them.
"Is there no other friend of yours you could have asked for help?" Valjean asked watching him go. "Someone who doesn´t hate you like that?"
Javert only looked at him, and didn´t say a word.
...
When they approached the stables behind the police station-house, Javert at last was glad that he had chosen this place. He instantly felt at home in this surrounding, the familiar smell of the horses in his nose. It hurt to know that this was not his place to be anymore.
"I tell you this is a bad idea." Valjean looked about as if they´d stepped into a haunted house. "This is not a good place."
Dear God. "It´s where I told him to meet us, now deal with it. It is as good as any other place." He turned to a pair of the horses, bound to a post outside the stable. They looked at him curious, ears twitching.
"That´s not what I meant." Valjean growled and Javert glanced at him over his shoulder.
"Well, what did you mean?"
He held the other man´s gaze sternly, and Valjean, even though he had been ready to give him an answer, sighed now, giving up.
"Nothing." he said. "I meant nothing." Another sigh, still tensed. "Let´s just see what happens."
Javert only snorted. "Yeah, I guess we´ll see." He turned back to the horse, a much better chat partner, especially now. It started sniffing on his pocket, instantly catching scent of the sliced apple he had in there. Javert had meant it as provisions for himself but he guessed he could spare one.
Valjean made his way around him, to the second horse. Javert hurried to withdraw his hand from the horse´s mouth, and settled it between the ears. Valjean didn´t seem as if he´d noticed.
"Maybe we started this whole thing the wrong way." he offered, his hand carefully on the horse´s forehead. "Maybe we should take a step back and … reconsider."
Javert raised a brow. "Reconsider what?"
"The way we want to do these things." Valjean explained, ignoring the horse´s sniffing on his pockets, where it was probably hoping for a snack, just like the one his friend had gotten. "I know we disagree on some things." Valjean went on. "But maybe …" The horse raised it´s head, too fast for him to see it coming, telling him how disappointed it was to find his pockets empty of snacks.
The man flinched back, startled, and Javert smirked. Starter.
"We do disagree, that´s true." he said, caressing his own horse calmly. "But you can learn."
For a moment Valjean seemed off balance. "That´s not what I meant." he frowned, and once again Javert chuckled.
"I know."
The line between Valjean´s eyes deepened. He was sufficiently irritated. Good.
Javert´s joy over this was cut rudely short though, when Dubois made his entrance. But he was not alone.
The former inspector stepped away from the horses, instinctively taking a stance. The men Dubois had brought along did not look friendly.
Valjean obviously agreed on this. He instantly dragged Javert back, trying to get away, through the stable. The only problem was, their enemies had considered that. Three more of them came out of the stable, blocking their way, and their exit was spoiled.
Valjean cursed under his breath, and Javert jerked his arm free. "What is this?" he demanded to know, facing Dubois and his troop. "Are you seriously trying to arrest us on false charges? We didn´t trespass in here and you know that."
"We don´t wanna arrest anyone." Dubois spoke, sleekly, and one of his pals agreed: "We just wanna have a talk to you."
Valjean skipped back, to keep his distance from those men. His back bumped into Javert´s, and it wasn´t before that that Javert actually realized they were surrounded.
"I knew this was a bad idea." Valjean hissed, and Javert felt the anger rise in his head.
"What do you want?" he roared at Dubois, but it was Valjean who answered him.
"I told you what they´d want, Javert. God dammit!"
Javert glared at Dubois and his friends. "So this is what all this is about? You must be kidding me."
"You betray your own and expect to be treated like a friend?" Dubois asked. "Come on, Javert. Don´t tell me you´re surprised."
"These men were traitors. They committed crimes, something we all once swore to fight, to protect the law!"
None of these men seemed impressed by his outburst. Their gazes were cold and unmoved, full of hate and anger. Anger that was directed at him. He just couldn´t believe it.
"What do you want to do? Take revenge? For these criminals that claimed to be police men? For Lecomte the traitor? Is that what you want? IS THAT … WHAT YOU WANT!"
"Javert." Valjean held him back. "Maybe fretting them even more is not the best way to get out of here."
"I don´t want to get out of here." he once again freed his arm from Valjean. "I´ll kick your asses if you come any closer, that´s what I´ll do."
"Javert."
Dubois only smiled, amused, in anticipation. As if he truly intended to get his own hands dirty. Just wait you gutless bastard. Javert kept his eyes on all of them, but Dubois would get a special treat, he would see to that.
Valjean´s hand was on his arm again, gripping the fabric of his sleeve. He was trying to get him to back off, Javert knew. But this just called for a lesson. Not like this. Not when these men were wearing the same uniform he´d once worn.
"If you want a piece of me, come and get it." he roared, already halfway on his way to go and get them. And of course they took the invitation.
The first man that came his way got Javert´s foot in the stomach, quicker than he probably expected. A second one, who tried to attack Valjean, missed his target when Valjean ducked down. Javert used the man´s momentum and sent him towards his friends. But not before he´d grabbed his sword, drawing it while the former owner fell inelegantly into a heap of horse droppings.
After that rather mild start the rest of the gang was finally set off. But now Javert was ready. They could draw their swords if they wanted to. He was armed now, and he would not let them forget who they were facing here. Valjean bumped into him one last time, and he pushed him back, away and out of his line. He needed space, goddammit!
Five men. Five men who had sworn to hold up the law, not break it like that. Five men who´d been trusted with these swords to protect the citizens of Paris, not to avenge criminals that were not worth the scum in the streets. Javert fought them, not to defend himself or Valjean, but because this was what he´d sworn to do. To fight those who did wrong. And to make them pay. And oh, he did make them pay. In time, one after the other flinched back in shock, as the blade of his sword swished past their faces, close enough to draw blood across their cheeks. A reminder only, but deep enough to serve as an example. Oh he could have done more, if he only wanted to.
The blood on their cheeks made them furious. Like animals that tasted the blood of their prey. Javert could feel the rush. Maybe, just maybe, he´d miscalculated. They were still outnumbered and Valjean was unarmed behind him.
Two of them came at once, from different sides and before he knew it he was disarmed. The next logical thing to happen would be that he´d be gutted by one of their swords. But instead the man holding him got dragged away and a moment later, practically flew onto his comrades, throwing them down with the impact.
"We should get the hell out of here." Valjean insisted and this time Javert agreed.
He rushed to the horses, instantly, and untied them quickly, swinging himself into the saddle. He´d just only swirled the horse around, when he caught sight of Valjean staring at the second horse as if he didn´t know what to do with it. Was he serious? What was he waiting for?
"I can´t ride." he cried, as if he´d read Javert´s mind, and answering his disbelieving stare he added: "I never learned it."
Behind him their attackers were back on their feet, closing in. And Javert cursed. He spurred his horse into motion, past Valjean, shouting bloody murder. The men backed off from the flying hooves, but that wouldn´t last long. Javert reached down, grabbed Valjean and dragged him up, the horse already moving. It took a moment and Valjean was clinging to him like a drowning cat, but somehow they found their balance. A miracle considering the improvisational character of this whole situation.
Javert made the horse run, race down the street, to get as much distance between them and these bastards as possible. They might be able to follow them. They had enough horses to do so if they wanted to. But after a few corners, they would have some trouble to find the right direction. If Javert knew one thing by now, then how a man could vanish in this labyrinth of streets and allays that went by the name of Paris.
Eventually he slowed the horse down, guiding it into a side street, away from public sight. The last thing they needed now, was someone to spot them on a stolen police horse and call an inspector upon them.
Valjean began climbing down back to the ground almost instantly. After he´d noticed that they had stopped that was. He seemed to be a few miles away, which had obviously taken some effect on his balance. He needed to feel his way down, and without Javert´s body as a guide he would have probably lost his way. When he finally dropped to the ground it sounded like a sack of potatoes that by some strange coincidence wore shoes.
Javert watched him for a moment, pale as he was, before he swung himself down as well. Valjean really was unbelievable. How could this man have managed it to hide from him in all those years? By staying away from horses he guessed.
Apropos.
Javert sent the animal on its way, back out of the allay. One clap on its back and it idly trotted away. Javert glanced at his partner for a moment, before turning the other way. It was still better to get away from here, just in case.
But obviously Valjean had some objections.
"Would you mind explaining to me what that was?" he asked, stopping him.
Javert was startled. "What? That? That´s called riding."
"You know what I mean." Valjean insisted. His old strength seemed to be back for him quickly. "This stunt at the stable. Did you want this to happen? You did, didn´t you?"
"What? That they lured us into a trap?" Javert kept walking. "Yeah, sure, that was totally on purpose."
"That´s not what I mean. I´m talking to you." Valjean grabbed his collar, forcing him around. "We could have avoided this fight." he insisted. "What the hell was that supposed to prove? And this scratch you gave each of them? What was that? Was that your way of teaching them to never forget your name, inspector Javert?"
Instead of answering this insult Javert grabbed Valjean´s coat, the same way Valjean held him. "Maybe next time I should just allow them to beat us up." he hissed into his face. "Would you like that better?"
The former convict did not give a response. But he didn´t let go either. All he did was stare, as if that alone could win this argument for him. And Javert, just as well, stared right back at him. A contest between the two of them, in which neither would ever be able to win. And they both knew that.
Maybe it wasn´t his key after all, Javert mused for a second, losing his focus. Maybe someone else had the same sort of key. It was possible. Maybe everyone who lived there had keys looking like that. It could be, right? Right?
Valjean let go first, Javert recalled now, as if part of his mind was still focused on the task at hand. To tell events in the right order, even while this other part of him tried to distract. Javert clung to the order of events and went on. He´d instinctively released Valjean from his grip, the moment his own collar was free. They´d both given up on this staring contest at last.
"I told you from the beginning it was a bad idea to go to the station." Valjean repeated one more time, as if this would make a difference now.
Javert straightened his sleeve, huffing. "And you were right, is that what you want to hear?"
"You really thought they would be happy to see you after what happened? You are the reason why some of them are rotting in prison along with Lecomte."
"I know and alone the thought makes me sick. That they´re blaming me for doing the right thing." Javert was panting in his anger, staring into this dumbfounded face of his former convict. Now the only man that would stand by his side in the face of a world that was upside down. "This is why I took on this uniform." he told him unable to help himself. "This is why they should wear it now. These men committed crimes, disgraced the uniforms they wore and betrayed the oath they had sworn, and I´m the traitor? It´s not right."
For a moment Javert could not go on. He hated it that there was an actual lump in his throat after this, and oh God, how much he hated it to get that gaze from Valjean. So sympathetic and maddeningly understanding.
"It isn´t." he agreed, gently. "Of course it isn´t." His smile vanished with a deep sigh. "But that´s the world … Javert. Just because a man wears a uniform doesn´t mean that he´s righteous and good." Javert looked up, noticing the pause that followed, and faced a wondering face, as if Valjean was in awe about something all the sudden. "And I can´t believe my luck," he then said. "That it was you and not someone like those, who hunted me all these years."
If it hadn´t been enough already, this last remark gave Javert the rest. What was wrong with this world? There had been a time when things were simple. When he´d known that those who wore the uniform were doing good, and criminals, even former criminals, were not to be trusted. And now here he was. Running from the uniforms, and he knew, just knew, that he´d rather trust this man with his life than any of those.
The world lay in pieces, turned over and reversed in its most fundamental aspects. And he feared that maybe it had been like this all along, without him even knowing.
It didn´t matter. Nothing of this mattered anymore. He was powerless to change any of this. So he could as well let it be and just accept, right? Only that he didn´t believe he ever could.
Valjean padded his shoulder, as if they were old friends, sharing memories that were decades old – maybe they were.
"Let´s get home." the old con spoke. "Don´t worry. It´s not over yet. Maybe the boy I hired will bring us something."
Javert didn´t expect the laughter that came up in him, but somehow it felt good. "Yeah, sure." he snorted. What a dreamer. He probably even meant that.
As they walked down the allay, he threw a side glance at Valjean, subconsciously shaking his head.
"What?" Valjean asked, when he noticed it.
Javert snorted yet again. "I can´t believe you don´t know how to ride a horse." he said and finally, Valjean was the one who looked embarrassed.
He gave a tiny chuckle and shrugged, helplessly. "Maybe you could teach me." he suggested, probably just to have anything to respond at all.
But of course that was something Javert could not let pass just like this. "Maybe?" he asked, and his gaze alone should be enough to inform Valjean what he had just signed up for. He could bet his ass Javert would teach him, and he better didn´t dare to suck at it.
...
"Quiet a story, inspector." Vidocq set down his glass. He´d held it without noticing it, mesmerized by the story, for over ten minutes. "I don´t blame you for not coming to see me anymore that day."
But Javert glanced up, knowing the mistake in Vidocq´s thinking. And he corrected him.
"The day wasn´t over."
...
The police men had been a rather mild interruption compared to what was still waiting for them. Knowing this now it was hard for Javert to remember why he´d been so agitated over this little ruffle. In comparison it had been nothing. Nothing at all.
But like it was with all the minor fights in our lives, back then, when he hadn´t been so much wiser, it had felt different. Very different. When he´d entered Valjean´s house, he´d felt as if he´d been through the longest day. His muscles were hurting like those of an old man and on the inside he wished nothing more than to drop into a chair – preferably the soft armchair at the chimney – and fall asleep in there.
On the outside he was still grumpy, and ready to kick everyone´s butt should someone rub him the wrong way, be it by accident or not.
Valjean looked about, just before he closed the door. Searching. The boy he had expected was nowhere in sight.
"I told you he wouldn´t show." Javert said, but Valjean would not be discouraged that easily.
"Maybe he´ll come later." he closed the door.
Javert snorted.
"You want some tea?" his host offered, and in his exhaustion, Javert simply sighed.
"Yeah, why not."
He followed Valjean into the kitchen, lowering himself into the less comfortable wooden chair and allowed himself to be served. When the cup was at last steaming before him, Valjean spoke up again.
"I think you should stay here tonight." he nonchalantly stirred his own tea. "And maybe the rest of the week." Javert glanced at him in a very defined way, but Valjean answered his gaze unyielding. "These officers probably know your address." he explained his reasoning. "They might decide to pay you a visit. I´m surprised they haven´t done already. But now that you rattled their cage …"
"You are concerned about my health?" Javert taunted with a smirk that was meant to look mean and mocking. But Valjean replied, totally serious:
"I´m concerned about your health since you started to show those suicidal tendencies."
And it wasn´t before it was out that the speaker himself realized how delicate of a subject this still was.
For a moment none of them spoke a word. Javert took the cup closer to himself, as if he now finally wanted a sip of the tea. But in the end the cup remained where it was. God dammit, Valjean.
"Anyway." the other man broke the silence at last, clearing his throat. "You can hide away from them here. At least for a while."
"I don´t intend to hide from them." Javert heard himself say. Or maybe he only heard it from the outside now that he looked back on those events. It was quite possible that back then, he´d actually meant it. As insane as it sounded to him now.
Valjean had been smarter. He had known how mad it sounded, right from the beginning.
"You want this to happen?" he´d cried. "If they come to your house at night … and don´t tell me this could never happen." he wouldn´t allow Javert to claim anything of the kind. "The law won´t protect you." he told him. "They are the law now, and you are nothing against them."
"Thank you very much."
"You know what I mean. You´d stand alone against them all."
Javert had not looked at Valjean, when he replied: "I´m used to that."
There had been silence for a moment. And then a heartfelt: "Antoine."
Javert had cringed. Why? Why did he always have to use that name in exactly those moments? As if he knew. He knew, goddammit. Not even avoiding his gaze would help.
"You aren´t alone." Valjean tried to tell him. "Not anymore."
Javert would still not look at him. Rather would it freeze in hell. He remembered closing his fists, and that Valjean had probably seen it. But he hadn´t said a word. It was nothing he knew how to talk about. Ever. And even less did he know how to handle a feeling like this. It made him all too vulnerable. And vulnerability was dangerous. It could be lethal. It could be used against you by your enemies. And enemies he had enough these days.
He was glad, relieved actually, when they heard the front door, two pairs of feet shuffling in, and the voice of the boy, Marius, calling out for: "Monsieur? Are you there? You must come fast!"
...
Vidocq was listening, so mesmerized, although he tried to hide it. "I assume they brought some news … that kept you busy?" he helplessly tried to get the story from Javert.
And Javert just looked at him.
"What did they say?" Vidocq was letting go of his patience.
"It wasn´t what they had to say." Javert told him. "But how she looked. The girl. Cosette. It was the way she stood there, in the door."
Valjean had gasped, beside him, at the sight. And so had he. He´d felt as if the blood had left his head, in one big drain, and he´d felt dizzy in this moment. The sight of her, Cosette, the kid that Valjean loved like she was his own. She was just standing there, pale and silent like death in person, on the hand of her fiance. And the beautiful white autumn dress she´d worn that day, had been unrecognizable, covered with the deepest red. Covered with blood.