The Christmas Eve six years past would forever be burned onto Javert's mind. As Inspector of the force in his small town he enjoyed the advantage of assigning less desirable dates to his subordinates. However, that night Javert's assigned on-duty officer had taken severely ill, and, being Christmas Eve, the remainder of his force was already rather drunk. Javert decided that, even on this holy night, the streets could not go unpatrolled, and through this decision he found himself walking the streets of the town on one of the coldest nights of the year.
It was the combination of bitter cold and contemplation of the meaning of that holy night that caused Javert to momentarily enter the back of Saint Pierre's Catholic Church. Through the open door, he could hear the Latin chant drifting into the snowy streets, and had decided to momentarily warm himself before continuing the watch. Upon entering, Javert was struck by the beauty of that night. Candles bathed the altar in a warm glow as Adeste Fideles permeated all corners of the church with the glory yet simplistic joy of that night. Even for a man of strict religiosity, Javert was deeply moved, and, hastily dipping his ungloved hand in the font of holy water, he blessed himself and again entered the snowy night.
Javert walked the streets until early dawn without incident. It was merely an hour before his shift ended that he heard the screams from the dark alleyway, obviously belonging to a woman. He darted toward the sounds, club at the ready, and came across the woman – she sat with her back against a wall, knees held closely to her chest, with her face buried in her hands, sobbing. Javert, still touched by his encounter with the divine and not entirely himself that holy night, crouched down and pulled the woman's hands from her face.
He gasped, anger swelling within him. The woman had been beaten, both severely and repeatedly. Her lip was split open, blood seeped from her nose, which Javert believed broken, her left eye was quickly swelling and her right eye was blackened from an old beating, and she had multiple cuts on her cheeks and forehead. Her gaunt face and thin hair showed all the signs of poverty, yet Javert did not see the common street woman that he usually did; tonight, Javert saw the Madonna, the most holy Mother of God, in the unknown woman's bleeding face. He saw the Mother of All Sorrows in her eyes, and Javert knew that, for just this one night, he would not be merely the feared Inspector; he would be a fellow human.
"May I bring you somewhere safe, Mademoiselle?" Javert inquired gently of the woman, still shaking and hiccupping with the last of her sobs.
"Monsieur…I…I have no money…no way –"
"No money is necessary, Mademoiselle. Please allow me to assist you."
The woman looked into his eyes. Surely, she knew him, Javert thought. All the homeless and lowly street dwellers knew the feared Inspector Javert, and knew that he showed no mercy.
"But Monsieur," she began again, "the children need me. I have done…done nothing wrong. Please, Inspector…please do not…do not take me…to…to…"
"I have no intentions of taking you to prison, Mademoiselle. I only mean to take you to my home, ensure that your wounds are properly taken care of, and then return you home once I have found the perpetrators that have dared harm you."
She stared again, clearly expecting some catch. This was the feared Inspector who did nothing for free.
"I…I am not a whore, Inspector," the woman said quietly, looking at the ground beside her. "I am not proud of what I have done to help others survive. But I would never sell myself."
Javert felt his face burn. The woman thought that he wanted certain favors for saving her, and assumed that was his reason for taking her to his home.
"Mademoiselle, I promise you that I would never take advantage of you or any other woman. You need a doctor's care and a safe place. This, I can provide. Please think of it as a Christmas gift."
The woman glanced quickly at Javert's face. She looked briefly yet deeply into his eyes, which she found to hold no malice or lust – only kindness, and perhaps a tinge of passion for the good deed in which he found himself immersed.
"Monsieur…I do believe that I will accept your offer. I thank you with all my heart, and hope someday to repay you. But I find that…"
The woman, clearly exhausted both physically and mentally, suddenly drifted off, either into a deep sleep or unconsciousness – Javert could not say. He simply lifted her sleeping form from the cold, snow-covered ground and carried her to his house, laying her in bed as the sun began to rise. And as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the bedroom window, the illusion of the night was broken, and Javert found himself wondering just what he had gotten himself into.