To Stay Alive

The sound of their footsteps echoed in the empty streets, of the nightly Paris. Javert had no idea how long they´d been walking like that but he´d long abandoned the try to scold himself an idiot. Why he´d allowed this woman to distract him was beyond him, but somehow it had happened. And instead of drifting away into the nothing, he was forced to keep walking, and circling around his own thoughts over and over again. Why? Why did she have to do that to him?

"I was with a friend of mine." she started speaking, all the sudden, almost nonchalantly, and Javert flinched at the unexpected sound of her voice. She didn´t seem to notice. "We forgot the time, talking." she told him and shook her head. "This revolt just wouldn´t let us go. Horrible, wasn´t it?"

Javert couldn´t turn his head to look at her. "Yeah." was all he managed, hollow and impersonal. And even though he didn´t look at her, he felt her eyes on him.

"You were there, weren´t you?" It was not a question. "I know. I´ve seen it in your eyes."

Something inside of him broke apart at this, and she did nothing but nod. "It´s all right, Chevert. It wasn´t your fault."

The way she said it, it almost sounded as if she knew, without a doubt, that this was true.

The former inspector swallowed. "The name´s Javert." he told her, lacking any other response.

When she looked up at him, there was a sheepish smile on her lips. "I´m sorry." she said, correcting her mistake. "Javert." After that she halted, very briefly. "You have a first name?" She asked.

He merely looked down on her, not giving a response. What difference would it make anyway? This was just ridiculous. He wouldn´t do this.

She just shrugged, not offended at all. "I guess Javert will do."

They walked another street, finally reaching a small house. She unlocked what was obviously the back door, revealing a small sitting room, complete with a stove and a sink. A very humble arrangement, just as one expected it from a woman of her rank.

She gently ushered him inside, not really leaving him a choice if he wanted to enter or not, telling him that she would make some tea.

While she busied herself in the tiny corner that was her kitchen, Javert´s feet automatically carried him to the table, to the chair. His tiredness probably had gained an own will over his body and mind and when he sat down, he felt the tension of these last two days in every muscle of his legs, his back, his entire torso. And oh god in his head. He only noticed how tired he really was, when there was suddenly a steaming cup before him.

"Drink." Marianne told him, gently but firm. "You´ll need it."

Javert regarded her, as she sat down beside him, a cup of her own in hand, carefully sipping, as if she expected him to do the same. And in his lack of any other option, he took the tea, for no other reason than to fill this awkward silence with something, even sipping tea was better than staring.

"Tell me what you know." he demanded after he´d set his cup down, the heat of the tea warming his brain almost too much, and for some reason this sentence brought a smirk to her lips. As if she had to bite back some sarcastic joke that was obviously waiting behind her closed lips. But his blank gaze told her, clearly, that this was not the time for jokes.

"I know … that there is always a way." she spoke, carefully, as if to make sure, he´d understand her. "That even though you feel as if the world comes crushing down on you … and everything you believed in, is gone and wiped out … even if you think you have no right or reason to keep living … there´s always a way."

"What way?"

She held his gaze, so open and fearless, even though he must look like a walking corpse. "That depends on you. I can´t tell you which way will be yours, for it is yours not mine. But I know that there is a way. You just need to be ready to find it."

Javert lowered his eyes, staring into an empty distance that wasn´t even there. "What if I can´t?" he heard himself ask.

And after a long time of silence, that felt like an eternity, she told him, very gentle: "You can. You´re strong. I can see that in your face. In the way you carry this uniform. Even now. You are a soldier. And a soldier fights. He keeps fighting no matter what. Isn´t that right, inspector?"

Javert flinched inwardly, once again. "Stop calling me that. I´m not an inspector anymore."

As he looked at her, she seemed startled, for the first time since they´d met. She frowned, uncertain, and closed her eyes, momentarily.

"I know, I won´t convince you about this, just like this." she spoke, quietly, her voice so faint it was almost only a whisper. "But you will keep doing your duty. Just as you always did. What happened, happened. No one can change that anymore. But just giving up, is not a solution."

Javert looked up, seeing how her eyes were not on him, but in the same distance he´d been gazing at before. And he realized, with dread, that she was barely talking to him any longer, but to herself. As if she´d been repeating this to herself more than just once. Like a mantra someone would repeat, over and over again, to keep himself from forgetting.

When she noticed what she was doing, she chuckled, shaking her head, in amusement over herself.

"I tell you something." she then said, and there was something so grave in her voice, behind that smiling face, that he couldn´t tear his eyes away, even if he´d tried. She said: "Sometimes staying alive and keeping up the fight is the braver decision, inspector. It takes a lot more. A lot more … than to just shut down and die. Believe me I know."

Javert was speechless. What he saw in this woman´s eyes was breathtaking. A void much more horrible than the one she´d guided him away from.

"You …" he started but couldn´t finish. "You too w…"

"Do you believe in God, Monsieur?" she asked, before he could finish and he nodded, startled.

"And in fate?" This time she didn´t wait for his response. "I do." she told him. "I do believe that noting happens without a reason. And … the fact that I happened to pass that bridge … just when you were about to jump … that can´t be coincidence. I think God might still have something in store for you. I think you are not supposed to go just yet. Whatever you think you did wrong, you can make it right again."

Javert felt how the poison crept back into his heart, slowly, like acid. "I let a convict go." he spoke, almost snarled. "I let him run. I failed my duty. I failed to protect the people I once swore to serve. I failed to stop the bloodshed. The lives I wanted to save, were lost." he shook his head. "Too many. And my own life … I owe to a man that should be the guilty. But in the end everything was false. Everything went wrong. Things like that are not supposed to be. It isn´t right."

When she didn´t give a response he couldn´t stand this silence any longer, and searched her gaze. For a moment the quietness around him started to feel like an eternal emptiness, somewhere between this world and hell itself. He needed to make sure she was still there, that he was not the only human being left in this entire emptiness of the universe. But when he looked up, she was right there, still so calm, so easy in her sensuality, still smiling so gently.

"The world changes all the time, Javert." she said. "We might not always like it but it does. And we have to change with it."

He didn´t respond. He couldn´t. So she kept talking.

"There´s a lot of evil in this world. I know. But there is also good. And neither is easily recognized. What we think is right, seems wrong when the light shines on it from another angle."

He could see something glisten in her eyes, and he realized with fear that she was close to tears. Not for him. For herself. Because she really knew.

"I know." she spoke again, and shook her head, to pull it back. Her tears vanished, right back into her eyes, where they had come from. "But it isn´t the end." she stated, her voice much harder now. "It mustn´t be. We mustn´t give in to this kind of hate and devastation. We have to fight. In order to stay alive." She pointed at her heart. "In here." She pointed at her head. "And here."

Javert felt his heart race, in fear. How? How could she know all this? How could she see into his heart, where he hadn´t known how to see in all those years?

"Who are you?" he asked her once again and once again she smiled at him, so gently, like an angel.

"Just a friend." she spoke. "Who wants to help."

Javert just looked at her, and like a shadow that passed over him, his mind got foggy, clouding his surroundings, his entire world. She smiled a little more.

"You look tired." And with a gesture behind herself: "I have a bed for you. I think you need it more than I."

He tried to fight it for an instant, wary once again. But her eyes were just too kind to be suspicious.

She nodded at him. "It´s all right." When she got up, waving for him to follow, Javert shook his head.

"I won´t …"

But she would not even let him finish.

"Yes, you will. I insist."

...

"Papa!" Cosette´s voice, usually so soft and gentle, shrieked in his head, when she woke him up with her relieved cry.

Jean Valjean´s eyes shot open, and all he could think was: Where am I? Am I still at the barricades? Did they wound me and left me for death? Did Cosette come and find me, barely alive anymore?

But then something dropped beside him, making the cushions of his bed bop up for a moment, and he just knew that he was at home. The memory came back to him, and so did the pain, all over his body. Oh dear God.

"Papa, I was so worried." Cosette cried next to him. "Where have you been? You were gone for over a day, with no word, no note to tell me where you´d gone or when you´d be back. I heard of the fights. I was worried sick."

"Ah, Cosette." he managed, padding her hands, examining him with all the care and worry he loved so much about her. "Don´t you worry about me. You know me. I just … needed to get out."

"Out? For over a day? Papa, what is the matter? You were so urgent to leave for England and now … you disappear for a whole day … I don´t understand."

"Cosette." he managed a smile, while another memory came home to him. England. Yes, that had been his plan. Almost a lifetime ago. "Give me some time to get up, and … feed myself. Then we can talk."

For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to object. The expression in her eyes was so hard, he´d barely seen her like this. It almost scared him, to see his daughter, the light of his life, capable of such an expression. But then she cast her eyes down, and got up, to allow him some more space.

"I´ll tell Madame Toissaint to arrange some breakfast for us." she said, and for a moment her eyes remained on him, debating with herself if she really should let him have his way.

In the end she left without another word, and Jean Valjean, not known by that name by his own daughter, closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. God, he was so tired.

...

Javert woke up, to the sounds of the kitchen. For a moment he was confused, disoriented. Where was he? Was he at home? This was not his bedroom. And there shouldn´t be any sounds coming from his kitchen.

He sat up, taking in his surroundings, and slowly, it all came back to him. The night before. The barricades. Jean Valjean. The Seine gushing beneath him, like a hungry animal. Marianne.

His gaze found the door, and with some effort he managed it to stand up, every muscle in his body moaning in pain. He was still wearing his uniform. He hadn´t had the strength to undress, when he´d dropped into this bed, that belonged to a strange woman. A woman he´d never seen or even heard of before last night. And still, she´d stopped on her way home, through empty and dark streets, with no protection from possible muggers or rapers, to help him and save his life. Why? Why would she do that?

When he left the bedroom, entering the kitchen, she looked up at him, smiling.

"Morning." she greeted, heartily. "How do you feel?" Without waiting for his response, she put down two plates, with bread and butter. "I bet you´re hungry."

Javert sat down, watching her carefully, how she arranged the rest of this spare but generous enough breakfast. There was nothing in her gestures that seemed in any way off, or unnatural. As if it was normal for her to have a strange guest like him, sleeping in her bed. Like a stone.

"Did you drug me with something?" he asked, recalling how fast he´d blacked out last night, and she glanced at him, smiling apologetically.

"I gave you something so you could sleep." she admitted, and he surprised himself when he didn´t even feel angry about this revelation. "It was barely necessary though." she told him then. "You were so exhausted …" After another moment she added, as if it was necessary to mention that: "I didn´t take your wallet."

Javert raised his brows, astound. "I didn´t carry one." he stated and she smiled, almost proud.

"See?" She pushed the plate towards him. "Eat. Physical strength is crucial after a traumatic experience."

Again he looked up at her. "Are you a doctor?"

"My father was pharmacist." she nodded. "In his second job. His first job was Official Hobby Doctor to everyone in the neighborhood." She gave a small chuckle. "I took over the pharmacy." She finished, pouring some coffee, one cup for him and one for herself. "Eat." she repeated, more emphasizing and got started on her own bread.

The healthy smell of the bread and the coffee suddenly brought back some memory of life, and Javert felt, strangely, how his mouth started to water. His first few hesitant bites became bigger soon, his body claiming the food to revive itself. It was strange. So strange after what he´d tried to do last night. After he was finished, she seemed to be satisfied with him.

Before he knew what was happening she´d started to clean off the table, busying herself at the sink.

"I need to open the pharmacy." she told him, only a minute later, and Javert woke up.

"I´ll leave." he murmured, hurriedly getting up.

"I didn´t say you have to." Marianne abandoned her sink. "I just …"

But this time it was him who wouldn´t let her finish. "I must." he insisted, trying to avoid her gaze. "It would be inappropriate to stay even longer."

Another one of her famous smiles spread on her lips. "How much more inappropriate can you get?" she asked. "You already slept here."

Something inside Javert tensed at her comment. He wouldn´t quite call it blushing but if he was honest he just knew no other word for it.

She pulled it back, noticing how uncomfortable he was. "I´m sorry." she apologized. "I just … didn´t want to throw you out. If that is how it felt."

"It didn´t." he assured her. "How could it?"

It was the only way he knew to say what he really wanted to say. A thank you was so far away from his character and personality, he couldn´t even remember to ever having spoken such words. But somehow she seemed to hear them anyway.

"I´ll pay you for the food." he promised, reaching for the door.

"You could stop by in the evening." she hurried to suggest. "It´s no big difference to pay for a breakfast or for breakfast and a dinner all in one."

Javert halted, regarding her face, so hopeful, so scared yet again, as if he saw her again on that bridge only last night. Too many emotions mixed in one face. Hope, fear, worry, begging for a sign of life. And all of this was directed at him. The former inspector had no idea what to do with this.

Eventually he nodded, hesitantly. "Maybe." was all he could muster. "I´ll let you know."

And with that he walked out. He needed to get away from here.

...

Cosette allowed him to eat, until he looked a little less pale, he figured. Until she was sure, he would not fall off his chair by pure exhaustion. That was as long as she could hold it back, this always present need of hers, for answers, and the truth.

"Now tell me, Papa." she demanded. "Where have you been? And why did you leave without a word to me? Or even a note."

"A note." Valjean repeated with a weary smile. His eyes met hers and he could see that she was guessing something. The fear was unmistakable. It almost tore him apart on the inside. His own daughter.

"I … got a note." he told her at last. "I admit it would have been right to leave you one, before I left, but … this note that I got …" he shook his head as he took it out of his pocket, to show it to her. "Let´s just say that left me kind of … startled." He held it out for her and her fearful hesitation broke his heart. "It´s from Marius." he told her.

Her eyes went wide, in shock and worry, as she reached for the note at last, opening it, to read the dreadful words of a man that believed to die and never see his love again.

"You don´t have to worry, Cosette." Valjean told her, as he saw her paling. "He´s alive. He survived."

Her shock subsided, just a bit, to be replaced by simple pain and high confusion. "What happened? Please, Papa, I need to know."

He sighed, deeply, fighting back the urge to tell her, everything.

"I went out … after I read this. To find out … what I could. I … wasn´t allowed to get closer to the battles. The police wouldn´t let anyone through."

He guessed that was probably true, so it had to sound believable. In her momentary state, it was probably the farthest from her mind to doubt anything he said. He could see the tears in her eyes, as she covered her mouth with her hand, so heartbreaking. So innocent.

"I stayed …" he went on. "Wandered around. Tried to find out whatever I could." His mind was racing, trying to find the easiest way to tell her this lie, without giving too much space for questions. At last he settled with telling her: "Marius got wounded. He´s at his grandfather´s home now. That´s all I know."

She closed her eyes, the tears spilling out, running down her face at last. And seeing how much pain she felt, only by this briefest of descriptions, Valjean just didn´t have it in him anymore, to rebuke her for not being honest. For keeping this secret from him, about this boy she loved, as if he was a stranger. His little girl. His only reason to stay alive.

"Will he be all right?" she asked, between her breaths, fighting desperately for some composure.

And Jean Valjean had no strength left to smile at her, not anymore. "I don´t know." he said, and that was nothing but the truth.

...

There was a lot of military in the street. Military, not police. Javert had noticed the siege they´d put over the city, but it hadn´t been that much last night. It got worse. As if they were afraid the revolutionaries could still pop up from a shadow somewhere. As if they could come back from their graves to keep fighting them.

But that wouldn´t happen, they just had to know that. Everyone who´d been at those barricades had died there. They´d never left those places.

Javert suddenly had the strangest mental image in his mind. The young boys, he´d met in this fateful night, all of them who had died, standing on top of a huge barricade, still aiming their guns at not existing enemies, still waving their flags, still singing their songs of freedome and liberty, not realizing that they were already dead, and with them this dream of a new world they would see when morning came. A fight that would never end. An eternal barricade, that these poor souls would never be able to leave, forced to relive this violent night of their deaths over and over again. Purgatory in it´s cruelest form.

Javert closed his eyes, forcing the image away, and quickened his steps. He needed to get home. Off the street. These eyes on him, made him nervous, even the glances of the soldiers, from far away, seemed to bore into him. As if he was a criminal, like Valjean, on the run and in danger to be discovered.

Once again he had to force this idea away, out of his mind. Before it drove him into madness.

Finally his home. He hurried up the stairs, and practically threw himself against the door. It gave way, before he could even think of putting the key into the lock. And for a moment he was just startled. His police senses kicked in at once. There was a chair in the middle of the room, a rope hanging from the ceiling. And when he noticed a shadow in his back, he swirled around, by pure instinct, trying to avoid the attack.

Only he was still too weary from the fights of these last two days, and the blow he received left him dizzy, long enough for his attackers, to grab him, and drag him to the chair. Javert had no idea how he summoned the strength or the willpower to struggle, but somehow his instincts must have kicked in, faster than his brain. He raised his elbow, hit something, heard a grunt, and punched, randomly at the second man beside him.

It wasn´t enough. Not by a long shot. But it was enough to buy him some air, long enough to grab the rope and rip it off the ceiling. How he managed it to hit anything when he threw it was a mystery to him, for he hadn´t even had the time to aim properly. But when he looked again, the rope lay around the neck of one of his attackers. A second jerk of his wrist and the rest of the rope swung, catching the second man, as he tried to lunge for him. He pulled, knocking their head against each other, and shoved them both into the third man.

To his great misfortune, they now were exactly between him and his way out of this misery. He didn´t fool himself with the insanity of being able to knock them out for good, and he surely wouldn´t reach the door before they´d regained their stance. So he did the only thing that was left for him as an option. He ripped once again, on the rope. The man who´s neck had been caught in it, yelped, falling like an old tree, and Javert swirled around, before he heard the sound of him hitting the ground, running for the window. His hands worked without his mind, skillfully like he´d learned it in years and years of training, winding the rope, pitifully but sufficiently enough around the handle of his window. And then, with no chance at all of being sure if the rope would hold, he just jumped.

For a moment he saw the street closing in, way too fast, and the part of his mind that could still think, somehow had the time to realize how ridiculous this was. That he was now fighting for his life with everything he had, while only last night he would have happily given up, with no struggle at all. And then the rope strained, and he felt the pain of a pull in his shoulder, way too fast, and way too sudden. But he had no time to think about the pain. His feet touched the ground, and after a brief stumble to find his balance, he straightened and just ran.