By the Passion and the Blood

When Javert rushed into the pharmacy, the shop was empty. No sound audible, not even the faintest clattering of tools or footsteps from the back, which should have been there if Marianne had been busy back there. And he was sure she would have locked the door if she´d abandoned the shop for some errand.

His heart was racing, sweat appearing on his forehead. No. He couldn´t be too late. Mustn´t be.

He ran, around the counter, and to the back. As he ripped open the door to the sitting room, a gush of wind, produced by his own momentum hit his face, blinding him momentarily. But then his eyes found the floor, the table he´d had breakfast on only this morning, toppled over, and Marianne … oh god, Marianne.

His heart just about stopped for a moment. So did his breath. All the warmth of his body seemed to be gone, as he saw the blood, all over her, her eyes still open, her face still so calm and sad, as if she´d wished nothing more, even in dying, to see the next dawn. A light of hope at the horizon, chasing away the dark. Only now there was no light anymore. Not for her. She´d been thrown into the dark, just like all the others. The same dark Javert would have embraced the other night, if it hadn´t been for her.

The strength left his legs, leaving him numb. But only for a moment, until he heard the sounds, so familiar by now, of an attacker closing in.

Once again his instincts, gained in years of police work, saved his life, as he swirled around, and grabbed the pistol that was aimed at him. Javert recognized the man that had attacked him at his own place and in this moment, all the rage and fury he´d kept stored inside his heart, broke free. He yanked the arm of the man up and jerked it around, taking the gun out of his hands, just as the two others came into his view.

He shot, and it wasn´t before his bullet had hit that he saw the blood on the falling man´s hands. Not his own.

If Javert would have had the time, he would have followed this man, even while he was dying to pay him back what he had done, orders or not. But he didn´t have the time. The man he´d disarmed lunged at him, too fast this time for Javert to dodge him, and the gun got knocked out of his hand. For a moment his world spun, and then he collided with the door, throwing it shut with a loud bang.

Javert heard a click, and when he looked, the third man aimed at him. Already working purely on instinct again, Javert spun the man that had pushed him around, and brought him between himself and the bullet. It hit his human shield, where he didn´t know. And didn´t care. He pushed the man off himself towards the shooter. And behind him the door got opened, hastily.

He swirled around, expecting another attacker, a customer, even a police man. But what he saw left him speechless for a moment.

He stared into the gaping face of none other than Jean Valjean, and in this moment, the moment God seemed to have chosen to improve his humor, the former inspector, almost started to laugh. That was until he remembered the third man, and his gun, probably ready to shoot again by now.

He swirled back around, glancing over his shoulder, just in time to see him aim it. Two guns, not just one. One for each of them? And without knowing why he did this, Javert didn´t lunge for the shooter, but for Valjean.

The shot echoed behind him, the bullet sizzling through the air only a few inches past his head, and Javert just knew he´d miscalculated. The counter was too close, the space outside the door, too narrow, for a good landing. Valjean´s back hit the wood, and so did Javert´s elbow, sending pins and needles up his arm, only a second before they painfully hit the floor.

They barely had the time to realize what just happened, and that the respective other was indeed in the same room, when the looming shadow of their killer was behind them yet again.

Javert was too slow, and wouldn´t have made it up in time, to make another stand. The pistol was aiming at the back of his head, before he´d even seen it coming. And then Valjean kicked out, into the knee of the man, and his assassin yelped out, in pain, doubling over.

Javert didn´t wait any longer. He grabbed the man and brought the gun down, aiming it at his abdomen. When the next shot came, the assassin went still, tensed, until his body gave in and he sagged down, to the ground.

"What in God´s name is going on?" Valjean cried, from the floor.

But before Javert had a chance to even take in the question, someone from outside yelled, crying out for help. For the police.

"Dammit." the former police inspector dropped the empty weapon and for no other reason than the fact that he couldn´t leave any witnesses, he grabbed Valjean and jerked him back to his feet.

Getting out through the front was no option so he shoved him back into the sitting room. There was no time, none at all, to stop and glance down on the dead Marianne, to regret her death and feel guilt and pain and shame all in one. No time to mourn this loss that shouldn´t have been a loss for him. Not over someone he´d just met, only a night before. Someone who´d only died because she´d tried to help him.

"What …?" Valjean´s voice brought him back to reality, and Javert pushed him out of the door.

"Don´t stand around like a dumbfounded idiot." he barked at him. "Do you want to get arrested?"

At the corner he stopped anyway, just for an instant, to look back, checking.

"I don´t understand." he heard Valjean breath, and this time when he met his old foe´s gaze, he saw the confusion, the puzzlement, the fear. And for the first time in his life, he couldn´t even blame him.

"Neither do I." he answered him. And in his lack of any other word to say, he took his collar, forcing him to move again. "Now come on. You do remember how to run, right?"

...

Talbert glanced around the room, at the dead body behind the counter, a young sergeant leaning over it, before hastily standing up to look through the door. More dead bodies. Talbert met the gaze of the third man that shared this discovery, and the way Moreau´s jaw was working, the scar on his neck moving like a writhing snake, Talbert knew that they had the same thoughts.

They didn´t need to see who was back there. If Javert would be one of them, there´d be someone here to tell them what had happened. But there wasn´t.

"Oh, dear lord." the young sergeant exclaimed, and his gaze fell down, to the man by his feet. A puzzled expression appeared on his face. "Sir. This is Roulliard." he found, and instantly his eyes searched the other bodies. "And this man. I know him too. He´s from the national guard. What by the …?"

"It´s all right, sergeant, we will look into this." Moreau stopped him, before the young man could start wondering even more. Maybe even why police men and soldiers were found dead, in civil clothes, all in one place that contained a dead civilian on top of it. Or why the mayor´s personal secretary was out in the streets, investigating a crime scene for that matter.

Talbert watched how Moreau gave the young sergeant a strict glance. "Secure the place." he ordered him. "Let no one inside. This is an official crime scene now."

The man nodded, intimidated, be it by Talbert´s presence or his position – or maybe by all the blood around him – and hurried out.

The secretary took a deep breath, meeting the gaze of the police man, so intense.

"We have to report this." Moreau said, and Talbert almost laughed.

"Of course we have to." The stare didn´t let go of him. It was seething. "What?" the secretary demanded.

"You told me to keep our distance." Moreau recalled, accusingly. "To let them handle it. It would be fine."

"It should have been." Talbert cried, panting in his anger. "These three were good at their job. They served the mayor well, in the past." He ran a hand over his mouth, smoothing the blond hairs covering his chin. "And he´s only one man."

"If he´s only one man, why are so many of us on this task?" Moreau countered. "This whole thing should be over by now. And not like this." He gestured for the dead bodies around them, and Talbert could only hope that his stare would rebuke the man. This was serious business and he couldn´t have a man like Moreau, no matter how well trained and experienced, to question his orders.

"Soon it will be." he promised him, therefor. "He can´t hide forever. You and your men will find and eliminate him."

He gave Moreau a gaze that spoke loud and clear that he´d better not object now. And Moreau didn´t. How could he? Every objection now, would only diminish his own skills, and those of his men. And none of those who belonged to the Serpents Corail would ever dare to do this.

Talbert nodded. "You will find him." he repeated one more time. "One man can´t be a danger to us. We´ve come too far for this. Javert is on his own, and this is how he´ll meet his end."

...

When his back hit the wall, the iron hand of the inspector around his throat, Valjean lost all the air from his lungs.

"And now you´ll tell me." Javert hissed into his face. "What did you do in that pharmacy?"

Valjean looked into those furious eyes of a man, he´d always expected to meet this way, and strangely he wasn´t even scared. Confused, yes. Irritated. Totally lost in why and how he´d gotten here. But he had lived too long with this nightmare of Javert catching up with him, discovering his true identity and throwing him back into a cell, chained up like a slave again, that this situation was almost too familiar by now, to be scared of it. It would have scared him, if it had never happened at all.

"What does a man usually do in a pharmacy?" he spoke. "I came to pick up some medicine." He saw the change in Javert´s eyes, as his words came home to him, making him halt and think. "For Marius." Valjean specified, and the words spilled out of him, without him wanting it. "The boy I took from the barricades. He´s still not well. But he lives. Thanks to you. Hadn´t you allowed me to leave, he would have died."

For a moment the anger seemed to come back to Javert, but in the end his hand let go of Valjean´s throat, and he stepped back, exhausted.

"Who were these men?" Valjean asked. "Why did they try to kill us?"

Javert didn´t answer. He seemed to lack the strength for it.

"I came to the station." Valjean blurred, not really knowing why this was important, especially now. "A few hours after you let me go. To turn myself in."

At this Javert finally glanced at him again, and the expression in his face was almost one of shock. "Why would you do that?"

"I gave you my word." was all Valjean knew to say to that. "But you weren´t there. They told you you had resigned. Is that true?"

Once again he didn´t get an answer. But the way Javert avoided his gaze, spoke more than thousand words.

"Why?" He just couldn´t believe it.

The voice of the former inspector, was low and almost hurt, when he spoke: "I don´t expect you to understand, Valjean. So there is no sense in trying to explain it to you."

Valjean didn´t know what to say. Javert turned away from him, halting, as if thinking. His eyes were those of an hunted animal, still aware, always ready to jump and run – or fight.

"So you really just came there for some medicine." he repeated. "You really expect me to believe that you showing up there, right in this moment, was pure coincidence?"

Valjean looked into this wary gaze and knew no response. "What do you want me to say?"

Javert´s eyes fell down, as he thought, visibly struggling to decide what to do with this.

"These men tried to kill me." he said at last. "And for that they killed an innocent woman. I can´t afford to believe in coincidences."

Valjean frowned, uncertain. He´d never expected Javert, from all the people in the world, to talk like that. What on earth did he mean by that?

"Who are these men?" he asked again. "And why were we running from the police? I thought you´d …"

"Shut up." Javert hissed, with unexpected force. "You know nothing, Valjean. Nothing, you hear me?"

The former convict stared at his old foe, taken aback, much more than he thought he could be, by an outburst like this. Something about the way Javert had said that, was strange. Unexpected. And his gaze, the depth in his eyes, seemed to be torn, when he glanced at him again.

Valjean was not sure what he expected Javert to say next, but it surely wasn´t: "Do you believe in God, Valjean?"

Before he could even think of nodding, Javert – obviously assuming that of course the answer was yes – went on with no pause at all: "And in fate?"

Valjean was so confused, more than ever, since he´d entered this pharmacy and heard the shots. What was Javert talking about? And where did he want to go with this?

As if he´d read those questions in his face, Javert narrowed his eyes at him, nodding almost unnoticeable. "I recently learned that nothing happens without a reason." he spoke, as if holding a very important speech. "You being here must have a reason. And right now I don´t have the luxury to doubt these reasons." Before Valjean even knew what was happening, the former police inspector had grabbed the fabric of his coat again. "You´re coming with me." he stated, no argument allowed. "And you will help me find these men. Helping shouldn´t be too hard for you, right, man of mercy?"

...

Cosette looked up, at the sound of the door, and instantly she was up, out of her chair, hurrying to the front door. Finally. It had gotten too late by now. Way too late. Soon it would be darkening.

This was not normal. Not even for him. So short after he´d been gone for a day..

"Papa!" she cried before she even saw him, having recognized him by the sounds he made, when entering. "Why did you just leave? You could have said someth …"

Her gaze fell upon the second man, in her father´s company. Cold blue eyes met hers and for a moment she felt as if this gaze, took all the warmth from her blood.

"Cosette." her father spoke, from far away as it seemed. "My dear. We have a guest tonight." His gaze found that of the other man, briefly as if he was unsure himself. "Would you prepare the guest room, please?" he asked her nonetheless.

Cosette regarded the gaze this man gave her father, so cold and ungrateful, as if he´d just insulted him, instead of offering hospitality. And in this moment Cosette was certain that this man was capable of nothing else but coldness. And that he would draw them both into this pit along with him, if they allowed him to stay around them for too long.

"Papa." she dragged him aside, whispering urgently at him: "I know his face, this is the police man we …" she halted briefly and lowered her voice even more. "… we ran away from the other day. Don´t you remember?"

But her father didn´t seem to be concerned about her warning. He who had always taken so much care, not to get close to any police uniform they saw in the streets.

"Don´t worry, Cosette." he told her, not trying in the least to speak quietly. As if he wanted this man to hear everything he said. "I know exactly who he is." he told her, and looked up, at the inspector.

Cosette´s heart beat in her throat, as those cold blue eyes lay first on her father, and then on her. Surely the next thing to happen would be that this man would reveal his true colors after all, and arrest them both for some made up crime. Just as she had always feared it would happen, if she should ever see this face again. The man from the nightmares of her childhood.

The more did it startle her, that his voice didn´t sound like roaring thunder, not slicing as a knife, or poisonous like the venom of a snake. For a moment this man, that wasn´t dressed as police but definitely was, straightened his posture, just a bit, before he spoke, surprisingly soft.

"I can assure you, Mademoiselle. You have nothing to fear from me. I´m no longer with the police. In fact …" and at this his steel blue eyes met her father´s again. "I might be a wanted fugitive myself now."

Cosette could feel her father tense, beside her, at those words. But just as always when something from his past was stirring inside of him, he concealed it quickly, before it surfaced, for someone – her – to see.

"Cosette." he turned to her, sounding almost nonchalant. "Would you make us some coffee? The inspector …" he met the other man´s gaze, reconsidering. "Javert and I have to talk." he finished and Cosette could see in Javert´s face that there was something strange about the fact that he had chosen to rephrase it.

For a moment her insides fought against his wish, to leave them alone, but in the end, she obeyed, as she always did. Instead of leaving for the kitchen though, she stopped, just behind the door.

"What happened?" she heard her father ask. "Is it because of me? Because you let me go?"

There was a faint snort, from the inspector. "Don´t flatter yourself, Valjean. The world is not circling only around you."

"Then what´s the reason for all of this? Please tell me, I might be able to help."

Cosette heard footsteps, and then the sound of someone sitting down. The sigh she heard was not her father´s. Neither was that ironic chuckle.

"How could you be able to help?" Javert asked, and Cosette couldn´t help herself. She had to see. So she opened the door again, just a crack, to peek through.

"Do you even know what you´re doing?" Javert asked, and in the way he looked upwards at the ceiling, she guessed that this question had not been meant for her father.

"You say you are a convict now." her father spoke, gently, and as Javert turned back to him, he shrugged, smiling. "Let´s just say I have some experience with that. I could be of help."

Cosette´s hand tensed, around the door handle. Now it would happen, she was sure of it. Now this ruthless police inspector would jump up and arrest him. Why? Why had he said this? After all those years? Had he lost his mind? Had he forgotten?

The same time her heart beat faster, in anticipation, and a part of her wanted nothing more than for him to go on, tell some more. A convict? Experience? What kind of experience?

Outside Javert did not jump up. He remained in his seat, glancing at her father tiredly. "Yeah." he sighed. "I guess you could."

After having spoken this his face got distorted by something Cosette could only name as a sort of pain, even though she knew that this was not even half of what this was. Javert turned away from her father, burying his face in his hand. "What has happened to this world?" he groaned. "I´m in the house of a convict. I should be here arresting you. Instead I´m hiding from my own men."

Cosette gasped, closing her mouth quickly, and her heart was so loud in her ears that she was sure they had to hear it. But they didn´t.

Javert kept his face in his hand, palm massaging his forehead in despair. And when Cosette looked at her father, she saw only sympathy there. A compassion that she only knew from him, when it was about people who were truly miserable. Beggars, ill, poor people. Not a man like this. And for the first time in her life Cosette feared that her father´s good heart would bring him harm. Maybe even worse.

She watched with dread as he started to move, closer to this man that could be both of their doom, and touched his shoulder, so light, only with the tips of his fingers.

"Javert." he addressed him, gently. "What happened?"

The inspector looked up at him and the cold gaze immediately made him withdraw his hand. Once again Cosette tensed, but Javert did nothing.

"The bottom line." he started. "Though I´m sure it´s only half of the truth … is that someone wants to kill me. Apparently my own superiors."

Her father shook his head in disbelieve. "Why that?"

Javert straightened a little bit. "Someone has to take the blame for what happened at the barricades. They tried to stage it as a suicide."

For a moment her father frowned, thinking, before he asked: "Why did they kill the pharmacist?"

And for some reason this question seemed to make the inspector sad. "She tried to help me." he told. "She saved my life."

Cosette´s head twitched, as she regarded this scene in the other room. Was that real? Or was he just pretending? Somehow she couldn´t believe that this man was capable of a real emotion like this. It just had to be an act, to convince her father that he was true. And it seemed to work.

"She must have been very brave." he found, and what Javert said next, at least sounded real.

"She was an angel."

Her father raised his brows, startled about this unexpected soft and broken tone. Maybe he saw through it after all. Cosette could only hope.

"I … I´m sorry." he said, shattering her hopes. "Javert."

The other man glanced up, his gaze hard again, angry. "I´m sure you are." he hissed, and got up.

Cosette reacted by instinct when she hurried through the door, back to them, as if she had to keep this police man from attacking her father. But as she stood there, the two men simply turned around to her, startled but not all that much. And all she could think of was: A lie. It just has to be a lie.

But her father believed him. And she had always trusted her father. He´d been the one to protect her all these years. Would he trust this man into their home, if he would have any reason to believe that he could be dangerous to them?

"Cosette …" her father started but she shook her head, stopping him. Her eyes lay on Javert, trying to decide at last. And his gaze, now that she saw it closer, was indeed softer than before. Sadder. Could it be?

"I heard what you said." she admitted, briefly meeting her father´s gaze before the inspector drew her attention again. God, could it really be? It was so hard for her to believe. At last she had to make herself speak up again.

"I´m sorry for your friend, sir." was all she could muster.

The inspector sighed, and gave her father a glace. "It is so good to know how well concealed I am in this house."

Cosette glanced at her father, taken aback at this remark, and he seemed embarrassed even.

"Besides me and Cosette no one will know that you´re here at all." he said. "I swear to you."

The door Cosette had used to conceal her spying, got opened even more, and new footsteps entered the living room.

"Monsieur, please forgive me but I must speak." Toussaint blurred, placing herself in the middle of them all. "I have a friend, Estelle. She and her husband work with the nurses in the infirmary. Maybe she can help you with your investigation."

Javert´s glare got more intense, as he seemed to say: Yes, I see how well concealed I am here. I see it very well.

Once again Cosette saw her father react with embarrassment. "Monsieur Javert may I introduce … this is … Madame Toussaint. Our … housekeeper. But besides her … there´s really no one here. Really."

"I really didn´t want to listen in, Messieurs." Toussaint just went on. "I apologize. But the walls are not that thick you see and …"

Cosette caught yet another glance between her father and the inspector, so telling, but her father avoided it quickly, clearing his throat.

"Anyway, you said you know someone, Amélie?"

"Yes, Monsieur. She´s an old dear friend of mine. And her husband works at the infirmary of the station. Many police men come and go there. If anyone knows anything, then it is him. And if he doesn´t know. He knows whom to ask."

Cosette watched how Javert once again found her father´s gaze, both of them thinking this through. At last the inspector nodded his agreement, and her father turned to Toussaint.

"Would you talk to your friend, Amélie?" he asked her and she nodded, eagerly.

"I´ll go there right away, Monsieur."

"Ask about a group called Serpants Corail." Javert instructed her. "Something is going on at the higher departments of the police, and maybe the city itself. Your friend´s husband shall be careful who he speaks to."

Toussaint nodded one more time, and without another word, she was gone, out of the door, to run this errand as quickly as possible. Cosette could not stop watching the inspector, still looking for something that would betray him. But when his gaze found hers, there was nothing. He was just unreadable.

"I believe it is better I don´t stay here." he said, talking to her father, not to her.

"Why not?" her father asked, and as the inspector turned to leave, he hurried after him. "Wait."

Javert whispered his response, but Cosette heard it anyway. "The last person that tried to shelter me, was killed. Do you want to risk the same thing happening to her?"

"But … where will you go?" her father asked.

Javert´s eyes searched Cosette again, very briefly. "Don´t worry." he said. "I know my ways in this city."
"How can I reach you?"

The inspector halted in the door, and Cosette had to keep herself from shouting at him to leave already. Why was her father trying to hold him back? Even the inspector seemed wary about this behavior. Eventually he straightened.

"I´ll find you." he answered the question and then at last, he left.

Cosettte was at her father´s side, immediately.

"Papa." she urged his gaze away from the door. "Are you really sure that we can trust him?"

She was sure he had to hear the urgency in her words, that he had to understand how concerned she was, and for a reason. But all he did was sigh, and pad her hand.

"Don´t you worry, Cosette."

But this time she couldn´t just not worry, Cosette. "You think I don´t remember that night, from so long ago." she blurred. "At the gates of Paris. When he chased us through the night. But I do remember." And as she told him this, she saw the fear in his eyes. "This man has hunted us ever since I can remember." she spoke. "How can we trust him now? He could be trying to fool us."

The pain in her father´s eyes had so many layers, she couldn´t have told where it came from, even if her life depended on it.

"He´s not." was all he said, and even though Cosette had never fully understood her father, now it was even worse.

"And how can you be so sure?" she asked.

"Because I know how it is to be in his shoes." was his cryptic answer. That and another one of his, reassuring: "Just trust me, Cosette."