Fate

The street before the pharmacy was crowded, usually the perfect scene for someone who needed to hide in plain sight. If it hadn´t been for this shiny uniform Javert still wore. Epaulettes like his just had the tendency to draw too many gazes, something he had been proud of in another time of his life. Now it was as if all these gazes burned a hole into his skin, one after the other, until they would leave nothing of him but a crumbled heap of charred flesh.

Marianne was there, standing in her door, handing a bottle of some medicine to a customer. The old lady smiled at her, and in this moment, Marianne´s eyes found Javert. His expression instantly told her that something was wrong, and when he reached her, he didn´t have to tell her, to get inside, away from the street.

"What happened?" she asked, as he checked the street one last time, before closing the door.

"I need your help."

"I see that." It was spoken like a joke but without the smile to it. She realized how serious he was, and the former inspector was incredibly grateful for that. That he didn´t have to explain it to her, and this simple fact reassured him in his decision that this was the place where he´d find the help, he needed so desperately now.

"Someone´s after me." he told her, still breathless from his run back here. "They tried to kill me. Make it look like suicide."

Her shocked expression flickered, only for a moment, at this last revelation. He knew how ridiculous that sounded. Had they been there last night, they wouldn´t have needed to stage his suicide. But they hadn´t been there, last night, on that bridge. Marianne had been there. Just as she was here now. And she reacted so different from what he would have expected from a woman. She didn´t grow wide eyes, and threw her hand over her mouth, in shock and fear. She didn´t skip back or cried out. All she did was gasping, ever so slightly, her mouth opening in an expression of careful awareness, while her eyes momentarily darted away from him, as she took in his news.

"They broke into my home." he went on talking, mostly to get this anger off his chest. "Waited there for me."

"You know who they are?" Marianne asked, urgently, and he nodded. For a moment her eyes did go wide, in hope though not in fear, as if this was something she´d been waiting for all her life. To hear the names of these men, Javert had just encountered.

But Javert had to tell her: "I don´t know their names. But I recognized something. A … A ring. One of them had a ring on his hand, that belongs to a group of … of soldiers."

"Soldiers."

He nodded. "They call themselves Serpents Corail. It´s a secret strike force. Their members are found in every position of the police and the military. All that matters to get into it is skill."

"Skill for what?" Marianne asked but it was clear that she was scared to hear the answer to that.

Javert expected to see the wide eyes over the hand on the mouth after all, when he told her, mercilessly: "Killing."

He waited for her reaction. The shock to settle in, the typical woman. But it didn´t come. She only frowned, almost sad, about this information. Something a normal citizen, even a man, might have found to be shocking to the bone. But all she did was looking at him. Waiting for him to continue. As if this kind of talk was not so unfamiliar to her.

Javert forced his irritation aside. "They´re trained to find and kill people. If they get the order, they don´t need to know why a man has to die. They simply follow the order."

"Who gave the order to kill you?" Marianne asked, way too collected. "Do you know it?"

Javert took a deep breath. "No." he said and there was something in her eyes, that looked like a silent curse: Dammit!

"But I know how to find out." he went on, narrowing his eyes. "I know whom to ask."

Marianne only nodded. "You cannot go out like that." she stated, matter of factly. "They´ll find you in no time. This uniform …"
Javert could only agree. "I need to change into something unobtrusive. Something that makes me blend in. I don´t assume that you have any men´s clothing?"

There was a deep frown between her eyes. "I´ll get you something." She seemed to have problems, finding her next sentence. "My friend has a sewing shop, not far from here." she told him, her eyes, somewhere on the ground behind him. "I´ll be right back." She still didn´t look at him, as she walked past him, the frown deepening even more. "Wait here. Don´t stay in the front. Wait in my kitchen."

And with that she was gone, out of the door, without even one glance at him.

...

Valjean would have preferred to stay at home – dear god, even locking Cosette into her room, forbidding her to ever speak of this young boy again, would have been more preferable than to accompany her to his home. The place he´d only seen once, through a cloud of filth, smell and exhaustion.

Not that he had to worry they might recognize him. Not the way he´d looked at smelled that night. No, that was not his fear. Marius … he desperately tried to remember if he´d even seen him face to face in this night. Had he? And if they had glanced at each other, had Marius seen him clear enough to recognize him? Oh god, how he wished he could just stay away.

But of course he couldn´t. The baron would have been more than just startled, by a young woman like her, a woman he´d never seen before, showing up at his doorstep, only a day after his grandson was mortally wounded, asking to see him. And the way Valjean knew his daughter she would not be able to hide her affection well enough to let it seem appropriate.

So he took it upon himself to speak the words of formal greeting, asking politely to visit the sick young man. For his daughter and Marius were friends. And the whole time, Cosette kept quiet, beside him, her eyes cast down, glancing up again and again, begging the baron with her eyes, to please allow her in. To please say that her love was well. And Valjean had to compose himself even more than she had, to not let show how much it pained him, to be forced to witness this.

When they finally stepped up to Marius sickbed, the boy so pale he almost looked like a corpse, sleeping like that, Cosette couldn´t hold onto herself any longer. For just another moment, she hid her tears behind her open hand, gasping in despair, before she didn´t care any longer about the glances she´d get, and threw herself down beside the boy, caressing his face, his hair, his sweaty forehead.

"Marius." she wept. "Oh dear god, Marius. Please, don´t leave me. Not now. Not now."

Valjean met the eyes of the baron, startled about this outburst of tears and worry from Cosette. But after another moment, the old man started smiling, understanding at last, and he gave Valjean an approving nod. If only Valjean could have shared this feeling.

...

Javert´s nervous pacing stopped, when he heard the sound of the door. Not the front. Marianne entered through the back, probably to be more discrete. Once again he had to grant her a great skill for such things, and for a moment his suspicious mind, the mind of the inspector he once was, wanted to ask how this could be. How she knew how to do these things.

But he pushed it back.

"I know the police is in the streets all the time since they put the city under siege." she told him. "But I can´t help myself and feel as if they´re all looking for you."

The expression in her eyes, was enough to make any man smile. It might have been enough to even make Javert smile, or at least chuckle. Hadn´t the situation been so serious. Still for a moment, he almost felt amused.

When she handed him the clothes, he hesitated, only for a second, before turning away from her, to head for the bedroom door. How could this place be so familiar already? He´d been here only one time in his life, and most of this time, he´d been sleeping. And yet, he once again entered her bedroom, as if he knew this place intimately.

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, as if the door behind him had brought him into another world, not just another room, leaving everything he was running away from outside. As if he had entered a bubble of entirely different air, where nothing from out there could reach him. Not as long as he stayed here. And if he just sat down, closed his eyes, and stayed still for long enough, maybe then everything would just go away, and the darkness would fade. Into this new day, Marianne had spoken off, last night. Maybe if he just waited here, this new dawn would come after all. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Maybe someday.

But of course he couldn´t just sit down, and hide in here, huddled into a ball like a scared kid. There were men after him. Dangerous men. And they would find him, even here, if he didn´t beat them to it.

So he took off his uniform, sparing only one moment of regret when he dropped the blue jacket on Marianne´s bed, the symbol of his duty, his dedication, his entire life. Now he had to leave it behind. In order to live another day.

He turned away from it, forcing himself to move on, and when he returned to the sitting room, he was no longer a police inspector. He was simply a man, like any other man out there on the streets. And maybe that was what he was meant to be, he suddenly realized. After this fateful night at the barricades, later on that bridge, maybe this was the way he was meant to take from now on.

But not before he hadn´t finished this one business of his. Not before he knew why someone suddenly wanted his death. Not before he was sure they wouldn´t come again, when he least expected it.

When Marianne turned to him, seeing him in the unusual clothing, a tiny smile appeared on her face, only for a moment, before the reason for his change, came back to her.

"What will you do now?" she asked.

"I need to talk to someone. A man from the brigade. He´ll know what´s going on. He always seems to know these things."

He looked at her and once again there was nothing in her eyes but a calm awareness, tensed now, but still so steady, as if a huge wave could wash over her, and she´d only let it pass, waiting until it was gone, before she kept going, thinking about how to react and what to do next.

She nodded. "Be careful."

Nothing more. And Javert surprised himself by taking one more step closer to her, smiling at last, just a tiny bit. It felt strange. Strange in how easy it was.

"Thank you, Marianne." his own voice sounded like that of a stranger. But for her it seemed to be completely all right, no reason to frown and stare at him as if he´d lost his mind. The corner of her mouth twitched up, into a tiny smile, and for a moment she blushed, before she managed to turn it into an amused smirk.

"Well." she shrugged. "I guess it´s good to know that you´re willing to fight for your life again."

If Javert had needed another proof for the fact that this was a day made of miracles, this smile of his right now would have been it.

...

It was like a torture Valjean had to go through. To keep up the smile and stay polite, in the face of his worst pain. He was glad that there was some real pain in his body, aching muscles from the exertions of two days and nights of fighting, for dear life. The physical pain, as uncomfortable as it was, helped to ground him and not lose his mind. The baron had truly began to speak as if Marius and Cosette were already engaged.

God, he needed to get out and fill his lungs and mind with some fresh air.

"I ordered some medicine for Marius, at the pharmacy." the baron mentioned, as if he´d heard Valjean´s silent plead. "I should send one of my servants to pick it up before it closes."

Before he even knew what he was doing, Valjean stepped in his way.

"Please, Monsieur." he spoke. "Allow me."

"But …" the baron threw a glance at Cosette, who was still so focused on Marius that she didn´t even notice the discussion between the two men.

"I insist." Valjean told the baron, gently. "My legs are aching for some movement and it seems to me that Cosette won´t want to leave too soon anyway. Really, I would love to do this for you."

The baron seemed to think about this for a moment, probably debating if it was appropriate to leave the girl without her father, no matter if the young man was unconscious or not. But eventually he nodded.

"All right, Monsieur." he said, and somehow Valjean had the feeling as if the baron had guessed the real reason for his wish to retrieve after all. "I … could arrange a fiacre to drive the Mademoiselle home." he offered. "If you prefer to meet her there."

"What about the medicine?" was honestly startled for a moment.

But the baron assured him: "I still have some left. It´ll last until you bring me the refill tomorrow."

And in this moment Valjean just knew that the baron had understood. This emphasizing glance he got, was painful too, but not half as painful as having to stand by and watch how his beloved daughter poured out all her love and concern to this pale figure in the bed.

Valjean accepted the gesture, gratefully, and left, leaving it to the baron to tell Cosette about the arrangement. If she should ever get her eyes off this boy that was.

...

Javert waited in the narrow allay near the station, until the man he´d come here to see, was close enough to grab. He knew Dubois would come to this corner, he usually had a cigarette there, secretly during his watch. Javert had caught him a few times, wallowing in this disgusting new import, and every time the slimy bastard had sworn it wouldn´t happen again. Now Javert was glad for this weak character of the man.

When he dragged him into the allay, Dubois yelped like an idiot, grunting when his back hit the stone brick wall. His eyes found Javert, and for a moment they went wide, not quite with fear but with something else. The former inspector had no name for it. It only served to anger him more.

"Surprised to see me?" he snarled, and the man in his grip smiled, just as slimy as Javert knew him.

"In a matter of fact yes." Dubois croaked. "I heard that you resigned."

The man who once had been Dubois superior, nodded. "Obviously in more ways than one, right? You know that I had some visitors?"

"You had?"

The perkily ironic tone was instantly rewarded with another push against his throat.

"Don´t you dare to mock me." Javert hissed. "I recognized the ring one of them wore. He was from the Serpents Corail. You know who sent them, don´t you?" Dubois didn´t answer.

"Don´t you?" Javert pushed once again and the other man choked, nodding at last. Still there was this strange glowing in his eyes, as if he was more amused than scared.

"Who was it?" Javert demanded to know. "Who wanted me dead?"

Dubois was still smirking. "Gisquet."

Javert´s grip lost strength. He´d surely expected every name, but not that of the Police Prefect.

Dubois didn´t try to free himself, as he smirked down on him. Probably because he knew he was in no danger. Why should he be? If he wanted help, he only needed to yell out and every police man on the place would be happy to put a bullet into the head of this sentenced ex inspector.

"Why?" was all he could muster, barely a breath.

"Come on, Javert." Dubois sneered. "You were beaten up but not that bad. You remember what happened."

"At the barricades?" Javert´s thoughts flew back to Valjean, crawling out of the sewers, the half dead boy on his back, and those eyes, so tired and kind, even behind all that filth. To the back of the man he´d sworn to arrest, walking away from him, step by step, until he was gone.

"I … I tried not to …" he stammered but Dubois was untouched by his distress.

"You messed up." he told him straight to the face, and gave an uncaring shrug. "I guess many people did. But you know how these things work. Someone has to take the fall. And it can´t be Gisquet himself. He´s too close to the mayor."

For a moment Javert was just struck. "So this is not about …" he stopped himself just in time, but Dubois had noticed something. The smirk was gone, for a change, replaced by a frown.

"About what?"

Javert glanced at the other man, trying to read him. As if this hoser in police disguise had ever been worth a closer study.

"All this because of some politics?" he asked, still unable to believe his ears. "That´s why they want to get rid of me?"

It was so ridiculous. The whole fuss about Valjean, the one thing Javert would have expected to come back and break his neck, had he not decided to be faster, and now it should be something like that? Something that had barely anything to do with him in the first place. Or with Valjean.

"You´re smart, Javert." Dubois was smirking again. "You know there´s more to that. But this is the only story they tell us. And the only one you´ll ever hear, if they find you."

The former inspector regarded his former inferior, this slimy smirk, this sassy glowing in the man´s eyes, so patronizing – where the hell did he take the confidence for such a smug grin? He was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even within the police. But somehow this arrogant smile made Javert understand at last.

He stepped back, suddenly feeling dirty standing too close to this man. Dubois was still smiling.

Javert lowered his gaze, trying to shake this feeling of being derailed. His own superior. The Prefect he´d served for all these years. Now he´d given the order and left him for death, to be eaten by rabid dogs. Because this was practically what the Coral Snake was. A bunch of wild dogs, unchained, their wildness somehow harnessed to serve a purpose. And now this purpose was Javert.

"Thanks for the answers." he murmured, more disgusted than grateful and turned to leave.

"If I were you …" Dubois spoke behind him, still leaning against the wall. "I´d get the fuck out of Paris. Disappear. And hope that no one ever finds out that you´re still alive." At last he pushed himself off the wall, straightening his uniform. "And … it would be nice if you´d stay away from me, too. I don´t wanna end up like certain others that try to help you, if you get my meaning."

For a moment Javert was lost. But then he indeed got the meaning.

"What does that mean?" he pushed him back against the wall, with the same result as before.

"Let´s just say, it´s not very healthy to be associated with you just now." Dubois raised a patronizing brow. "No matter how pretty."

The look in Dubois eyes was just so arrogant, so knowing and yet so uncaring, that it hit something deep inside Javert´s soul. A weak spot he hadn´t known was there. But now he felt it, and as he stepped back, he felt a coldness take over his body, like he´d never known it before. The cold hand of fear. Not for himself – something he´d never really known, losing his life in the line of work was part of his duty – but for something else. Someone else.
Marianne.

He stared into this arrogant face for two more heartbeats … and swirled around, already running.