The Heat of the Moment

"Quite an adventure." Vidocq commented what he had heard so far. "I told you, you and Jean would be a good team."
Javert only glared at the man, darkly, and even Vidocq noticed that something about what he´d said, had struck too close to home.

Eventually he took a step back. "Could she tell you anything?"

Javert felt a stitch of regret at the question. He closed his eyes, and instantly had to open them again, when an unwanted picture invaded his mind. A picture of something that was black, and broken. Javert took a breath, and willed the image away.

"No." he answered the question. "She couldn´t."

...

When they reached Rue du l´homme armee the day was turning dark. For a moment Javert did not want to move at all. He could still feel Valjean´s eyes on him, as if the old man was waiting for something.

"Help her inside." Javert told him, tired. Valjean kept looking at him. "Help her!" Javert ordered, and finally Valjean obeyed.

Javert stayed where he was, burying his face in his hand. He could hear Valjean softly talking, eventually leading the boy and the woman inside. He´d probably stopped at the door, one more time to glance back at him, Javert. Thanks God he didn´t try to come back and ask him to follow. He needed a moment. Just a few minutes to get himself back together.

The quiet sounds of the street in the distance made him dizzy, but breathing the cooling air of the evening helped. Dear Lord, what a day. And it wasn´t over yet. They had the girl but what now?

Eventually Javert got off the coach seat. He knocked on Valjean´s door – a familiar action by now – and when Valjean opened, he looked tensed. Not so loud, his posture screamed, but he didn´t say a word.

Javert stepped in, looking about for a moment. The kid was probably with the girl, to calm her down. But she was not the first thing on Javert´s mind. Another task had to be finished first. He spotted the notepad on Valjean´s bureau and began writing, instantly. A brief but detailed note. Those men would not stay locked up forever and he needed to know that someone would take care of them. He might not trust the police with his life, but he still trusted them to arrest some criminals if they were presented to them on a silver plate.

A second reason for his hurry in this matter was just as simple. Whoever had hired these men, would not wait for them forever. If they didn´t deliver the girl in time, they might come and look for them. And the way this raping bastard had talked of them, he was scared. Scared of the punishment they would face, should they learn that they had failed. In any case, Javert figured, they´d prefer getting arrested and brought to prison than to explain themselves to their so called bosses. These nameless powerful men.

When they boy came out of the bedroom, to ask for a glass of water for the lady, Javert handed him the letter.

"Bring that to the police station." he instructed him. "Don´t worry about her, Monsieur Fauchelevant will take good care of her. We both will. But these men have to be arrested."

At those last words the kid finally nodded, agreeing, and Javert mirrored the nod.

"If they ask you, it was a random man giving that to you."

Again the boy nodded. Javert found himself reaching into his pocket, to hand him a coin.

"Now go."

Javert did not look around, but he knew Valjean was looking at him, smiling.

"You learn after all." he heard him say, but didn´t give a response. Instead he asked him where he lent the fiacre.

The answer was simple, but it still sounded as if Valjean demanded something in response. Javert refused.

"I´ll return it." he went for the door, but Valjean would not let him go just that easily. A hand grabbed his arm, holding him back, and Javert opened his mouth, ready to protest. But instead of being rebuked or questioned, he suddenly felt Valjean´s hand in his own, placing something metallic there. When he looked down, he found that it was the key to the apartment door. The one with the ridiculous heart shape in it.

"You knock too loud." Valjean told him. "You´d startle her."

Javert stared at him for a moment, flinching inwardly, and glanced at the half open bedroom door. She was probably listening closely to every sound that came from outside this door, still scared that someone might come in to hurt her. He had seen victims like that – too many – and he knew how fragile they could be. Damaged forever.

"Try to ask her what she knows … if you can." he said, quietly, to Valjean. "You´re better at this than I am."

And with that he finally turned around and left.

...

He needed half an hour to return the fiacre to it´s owner and make his way back to the apartment. When he opened the door with the key, he did it carefully, and as quiet as possible. Valjean was sitting on the couch when he entered, hands folded, and a deep frown between his eyes. He glanced at him, in utter silence.

Javert locked the door. He did not expect a yes when he asked: "Could you talk to her?"

Valjean just shook his head. "She´s too scared. I´d rather let her rest … and talk to her in the morning. When it´s light."

Javert only nodded. It had been more hope than actual expectation to get anything from her right now. This girl was traumatized. Maybe they should ask Cosette to talk to her. Another girl might win her trust easier than two old men.

Valjean got up, heading for the window, as if he hoped to find any answers by looking out.

"I have been thinking, Antoine." he sighed. "Or tried to. These men we´re looking for … And this man that´s after me. … They´re not the same. Are they?" Before Javert could think of an answer, Valjean shook his head, as if answering himself. "He doesn´t belong to them."

It wasn´t really a question anymore.

Javert stepped to his side. "No." he affirmed. "I don´t think he does."

"Then who is he?" It was evident that Valjean had reached a point of confused desperation. "What does he want?" he asked as if Javert could tell him, just like that. "And why now? Not earlier? Much earlier?"

"Do you have any enemies that could hold a grudge?" Javert tried to narrow down the list from every human being on this earth. "Anyone you aggravated with something?"

But Valjean was shaking his head, vehemently. "Never. I never hurt anyone."

Javert couldn´t help himself. He raised his brows. "You were at the barricades." he mentioned but Valjean instantly objected.

"I never shot any gun. Except … " he gestured but it wasn´t necessary to speak it out. Again he shook his head. "I didn´t hurt anyone there. And even if I had … none of them would have known my name. Not even those boys knew my name. They never even asked me." Javert frowned, and Valjean shrugged. "I saved their leader´s life. That proved which side I was on."

Javert nodded, recalling that fateful night in both of their lives.

"You do realize that this marksman could have ended the battle with much less loss of lives, had he hit his target." he mentioned, causing a dumbstruck gape from the other man. And it was this gaze, that brought the realization after all. It was that gaze, that made Javert lower his eyes, apologetically. "I don´t know why I said that."

Valjean only nodded, bitterly. "I do." he said. "The same reason why I keep saying those things that hurt you. Because we just can´t help ourselves." He nodded again at Javert´s reaction. "Apology accepted."

Javert forced himself to keep his mouth shut and not mention the fact that technically he hadn´t even apologized. But maybe Valjean didn´t need him to say it. He never seemed to need him to say anything.

The old con sighed, exasperated. The frown was still between his eyes, but by now it looked more worn than worried. He made his way back to the couch and sat down, slumping into the cushions, frustrated, hands covering his mouth like he was praying. And there he stayed, staring into the distance of his own troubled mind. Hoping, praying for an answer.

Javert sat down beside him, not much better off. This sure was not how he had imagined their first assignment to go down. Not at all.

"Maybe I was wrong after all." Valjean spoke after a while. And Javert woke up from his own thoughts.

"About what?" he asked, leaning back tiredly.

"Us. Me. About having a chance. To make up for all our deeds. Maybe we never really had a chance. Maybe this is the punishment at last. Finally catching up with us. With me."

Javert stared at this man beside him, totally unable to understand him. "What have you ever done to deserve punishment like that?" he asked, but Valjean shook his head.

"You think you know everything about my case?" he asked.

"What do you think you know about mine?" Javert shot right back.

Valjean glanced at him, and for a moment there was nothing left to say. Javert looked away first, but he was not done talking.

"Don´t be an idiot and believe this was some sort of Godly punishment. It´s not. It´s a normal human being of flesh and blood. And we´ll find him." Again he met Valjean´s gaze, not much more hopeful yet, but less desperate at least. "I always find my men." he told him, and at last something softened in the old man´s eyes. He nodded, accepting the unspoken promise, and leaned back with a weary sigh.

"I just can´t stop thinking of Cosette. He could have killed her that night. What if he comes back?" he closed his eyes, as if in pain. "He will come back. I just know it."

Javert leaned back as well, letting his eyes hover under the ceiling. "When he does, we´ll be ready." he promised.

"Will we?" Valjean turned his head, to glance at him, and Javert answered the gaze, straight on. He felt uncomfortable, but a well meant lie was the only answer he could – should – give right now.

"We will." he said. But he could see in Valjean´s eyes that he knew it was a lie.

...

He woke up to the sound of shattering glass, totally disorientated. What had just happened? And where the hell was he?

Beside him he heard a gasp, and someone flinched, startled. A frantic hand hit him just under the chin, before the owner had himself under control again.

Valjean. God, had they seriously fallen asleep on this stupid couch like some idiots? Considering how his neck protested against being craned back for so long, they probably had.

"Antoine!"

The cry was alarmed, and at last Javert was wide awake. The shine of fire had increased quickly these last two seconds, and now that he was focused, he saw the burning curtains.

He was on his feet instantly, but not as fast as Valjean. The curtains got torn down and Valjean began stumping on it, trying to smother the flames. Javert had a moment to notice the hole in the glass of the window. Too small for a stone – who could have hit this window with a stone anyway? From the street?This was the third floor. So there was only one thing that could have produced a hole like that.

He glanced out and saw a person in the street, aiming the gun again, and threw himself at Valjean, just in time to push him out of the line of fire. The bullet ended up in the ceiling, and the two of them in the shadow of the window.

Javert glanced out, trying to see something, anything with the blue vision still blinding his nightsight.

"Did you see him?" Valjean breathed beside him, and that was the moment when he indeed did see him. A dark figure, hooded, standing right there in the middle of the street. Still, as if waiting for a sign that his assassination had been successful. Son of a bitch.

"What happened?" Valjean was still panting after this fright.

And all Javert could think was: "We can get him."

He was at the door, before Valjean even had a chance to follow. He turned the key almost violently, before tearing the door open. All his focus was on getting down the stairs, and out to catch this bastard of an arsonist.

He heard Valjean call after him, approximately one flight of stairs behind, but he could not afford to waste time. The assassin could be gone any second.

He reached the street … and it was empty. Just as he was about to curse out loud, he spotted him though. Right at the corner, glancing back. As their gazes met – the assassin´s hidden under the hood – the man bolted. And so did Javert. Not again. He would not get away again, to maybe come back and try this again. Shooting burning objects with a musket to set an apartment on fire … that was professional. And it was personal. Valjean had been right. This man would not stop until he´d had him killed. This had to end tonight. And it would end tonight.

He sped up again, and reached a crossroad. Empty. Dammit.

But then he saw him again, just vanishing around a corner, circa two hundred feet down the left street. And Javert ran. It took him maybe three more corners, until he finally realized that this man was purposefully allowing him to stay on his tail. But obviously he´d had enough now, because at some point Javert did not see him anymore, no matter where he looked. The arsonist was gone at last. After he had decoyed him through the streets as if intending to lure him into a trap. But there was no trap here. So why the hell …?

And that was the moment Javert saw the smoke, rising over the roofs of the city. And there was only one building he could think of, that could be the source of that.

"No."

He began running again, back, only back there. What had he done?

It came back to him, that he´d smelled smoke on his way down the stairs. But he´d considered it the remains of the burning curtain. His own senses tricking him. And he´d been so focused on catching this arsonist.

Valjean. Valjean had called after him. He must have known. He must have seen what he, Javert, had overlooked. But now it was clear to him. The whole house had been on fire. The curtains had only been … what? The icing on the cake? A diversion? What?

It didn´t matter. All that mattered was to get back there. Just back.

...

Vidocq leaned forward, catching up with the truth Javert had kept to himself until now. A truth the former inspector himself only now began to understand and accept as being in fact … true.

"Javert." Vidcoq asked, urging, barely able to help himself. "Where is Valjean? You said …" but he already guessed it. Of course he did. "Where is he?"

...

When he reached the Rue du l´homme armee again, he froze dead in his tracks. The house was blazing. Every window was spitting either flames or thick smoke. And just then the roof gave in, crushing down into the house. The people in the street, those who´d made it out before it was too late, cried out, and quickly skipped back. Javert could hear shouts, names and crying. Some people held back their friends and neighbors, to keep them from running back inside, to save their loved ones.

Javert scanned the crowd, looking for Valjean. He wasn´t there. He wasn´t among them.

"Valjean!" he called, but thought better of it, considering the crowd. "Jean!"

He got no reaction, only some glances. No Valjean.

"Jean!" he ran towards the crowd. "JEAN!"

He got no answer. He couldn´t see him. The fire. No. This was impossible.

"Hey." he addressed a man staring into the flames. "There´s a man living here. Old, gray hair. Fauchelevant. Did you see him?"

"He woke me." the man answered, voice shaking. "Knocked on my door, said to get out. The fire …"

"Where is he?" Javert grabbed the man. "Where?"

The man only looked back at the house. "He ran back up. A girl had screamed and he …"

Javert felt how his fingers lost their strength, and swirled around towards the house. Towards the fire.

"I didn´t see him come out." the man behind him was crying.

No. This couldn´t be. The girl. Valjean.

Javert began to move before he even knew it. Towards the house. But someone held him back.

"No." a voice cried into his ear. "It´s too late."

"Let me go." Javert fought those hands. "I´m an inspector."

A wagon raced into the street, heavy, loaded with pumps and men in fireward uniforms. The hands holding Javert dragged faster, pulling him away – there were two of them now – and one of the firewards blocked the crowd with a simple gesture while the others prepared the pumps, as quickly as possible.

"Please, sir, I need you to stay back." he told him, but of course Javert would not comply.

"Let me pass." he kept struggling.

"You can´t go there."

"My friend´s in there!"

The fireward grabbed his collar, uncompromising. "If he´s in there, he is dead." he told him, brutally and honest. "You can´t help him if you die too."

But of course Javert kept fighting. This idiot would not get himself killed on his watch. Not like this. Not after all those years. Not …

But the flames were too hot, even from where he stood. This fireward was right. No one in there could possibly be alive anymore.

"Be reasonable, man." he heard someone tell him. "You can´t help ´em anymore. They´re dead."

"No." he barely heard his own voice, over the noise of the fire, but the words in his ear were loud as thunder.

"Everyone in there is dead."

From somewhere he could hear a woman crying, shouting and shaking in her pain, held by another: "Claude! Nohohohooooo."

A man, older than Javert, was holding back his friend, just like these men were holding him back. "She´s only ten." the man shouted, already breaking down in tears. "I can´t let her …" but the rest Javert didn´t understand. He didn´t need to. It was clear what the man had said. He saw him break down, held by his friend who tried to comfort where no comfort would ever be enough.

And at last Javert felt his strength abandon him. He slacked down, and the only reason why he didn´t fall to the ground were the hands still holding him. Whoever it was guided him to the wall, and helped him to lean on it, while on the other side of the street the fire kept burning. Slowly it was taking over other buildings, and soon the firewards would send away the people standing about. Further away from the fire, to safety.

Javert moved with the crowd, numbly. All he could see was the fire, his eyes still searching the street for a sign, that maybe Valjean had made it out of there after all. Of course he had. There was no way he was in there. This was Valjean. He didn´t just die. Not like this. He had to be somewhere around here. Maybe unconscious because of the smoke he´d breathed in before he got out. But out he did get. Of course he did.

But he didn´t see him. Valjean didn´t stumble down the street at last, clothes black from the fire, coughing like an old man. He didn´t turn up from a corner, like he seemed to prefer it. He didn´t lie in an alley somewhere around the neighborhood. After a while Javert simply ran out of ideas where to look. Except for that building.

It took the firewards the whole night to contain the fire. Somehow they managed it to keep it from burning the whole quarter. The street got lost though. And when the sun was rising there were too many crying people to be counted. They cried for their lost homes, their burned property, their loved ones.

Javert only heard them as background noise. Until eventually they grew quieter and quieter. He watched the firewards, exhausted from the fight against the flames. He spared only the smallest thought admiring their stamina, that even after this night, they still worked on getting into the remains of this building. Who did they expect to still find there? Nothing was left of it but some coal-black beams, still hot to the touch.

They surely wouldn´t find anyone in there. Especially not Valjean. Because Valjean was not in there.

But he had looked everywhere. If he got out, where was he? He would have been around here someplace, but he hadn´t found him. He simply hadn´t found him. Anywhere.

But he couldn´t be in there either. He simply couldn´t. Maybe he hadn´t found him because it had been dark. Maybe he should look again now that it was brighter. The old man probably lay in a corner, unconscious. He would be freezing by now, and probably feel every muscle in his body when he woke up. But he´d live. Of course he would.

And that was the moment, when Javert heard one of the firewards call for a stretcher.

"We have bodies." he made out some words, and his feet started to move all on their own.

He could see them carry out something that barely resembled a human being anymore, and one of the firewards, a boy of maybe seventeen, not more, stepped into his way.

"Sir, you really shouldn´t …"

"I need to see." was all Javert brought out.

He didn´t even look at the boy. All he could see was the figure on that stretcher. Once, before the fire, it had been a woman, he could see that. But only because the chest was bulked upwards, as if the poor thing had tried to scream up to heaven, even in her last agonizing moments. There was a tiny necklace shimmering on her collar bone. A small heart. He recognized it instantly. He´d seen it around their victim´s neck.

His eyes darted over to the next body that got carried out. A male one this time. Slim figure once in his life, and what was left of his hair had been curly once. Curly and gray.

No. Impossible. This couldn´t be him. It had to be someone else. Another man that only had similar shape and size.

"Sir." the young fireman addressed him again, and his voice wasn´t steady either.

Javert fought off his already cautious hands, and stepped closer to the others, as they sat down the body.

He felt their eyes on him, but none of them said a word. Not anymore.

Javert didn´t care what they thought. He needed to know. For sure.

The clothes were burned off, just like most of the flesh. What was left of the body was barely human anymore. The face. Oh God the face. The mouth was open like in a silent scream, and Javert could see the teeth. All of them back to the jawbone.

He closed his eyes, turning away with a shudder. Impossible. Impossible. It was another man. It had to be.

He forced himself to open his eyes again, and as if something had wanted it, his gaze instantly fell on the hand of the crippled thing before him. There, clutched by five black claws, as if it had been molten into the bones, lay Valjean´s key.

...

Vidocq stared at him, quiet, and totally pale, for the first time, since he´d started to tell his story. Javert would have laughed if he´d still been capable of such an impulse.

"He´s dead?" the burly spy finally managed to ask. "Jean …?"

Javert only lowered his gaze. He didn´t need to speak out the answer.
Vidocq slumped down into himself. "Dear God." His eyes found Javert again, and the disbelieve was written all over his face. "Are you sure? There´s no mistake possible? I mean …"

"Believe me." Javert spoke, his voice hoarse. "I wish it was." But he shook his head at the possibility. A possibility – a hope – he´d clung to way too long. At some point a man just had to accept the truth, no matter how hard and painful it was. "He was a thorn in the side …" he stated, his voice almost abandoning him. "But he was the thorn in my side." he needed to take a breath before he could speak out the last truth. "It was him."

Vidocq looked down and made a cross before his face. "The world has lost a great man." he spoke. "I´m so sorry, Antoine."

Javert glanced up, sparked with deep anger all the sudden. "Don´t you ever dare, calling me by my first name. Ever."

The other man did not flinch, only nodded, understandingly, before shaking his head again, in sympathy, disbelieve, regret, all at once.

"I always thought he´d live forever."

Javert inhaled at those words, trying to control himself. "Me too." He looked up, straightening in his seat.

On the other side of the table Vidocq seemed to shift, uncomfortable. "I hate to ask you this … but is there any chance to keep investigating the case I assigned you to? To find those men I asked you to find? It´s a very important case."

Javert glared up at him. He just couldn´t believe it. "The witness is dead. Valjean is dead. There is no case anymore."

"These men are still out there."

"So is the man who killed Valjean. And I want him to pay."

Vidocq nodded, understanding, but he would not drop this so easily. "There are still those men you got arrested. The smugglers. They might be a lead, still."

"If you want to question them for what little they know, go ahead. I won´t stop you. Tell me what you got afterward. I for my part intent to find Valjean´s killer."

Facing Javert´s stern expression, Vidocq simply gave up, sighing deeply.

"And do you have any idea where to find this man?" he asked, clearly not expecting to hear a yes. The more did it surprise him, when he actually heard just that.

The spy raised his brows, astounded. "Where?"

"This is the point where I need your help." Javert said, feeling his energy return now that he finally was at the point he´d wanted to get to. "Because there´s yet another man, who knew Valjean´s real name."