Three weeks Later
The day was light, the sun shining brightly from the blue sky, as Valjean watched his daughter lead the boy through the garden of his grandfather´s house. Marius had gotten better each day, and it was more than just obvious that it was Cosette´s presence that kept him going, healing him faster than any medicine could do it. He was still limping but he walked better, day by day. Soon he´d be recovered, Valjean could tell. Soon he´d walk strong enough again on his own, to take Cosette´s arm instead. And with that her hand.
Valjean closed his eyes. He wished he could be happy for them. But all he could feel was dread. Not even the sunny day could cheer him up. His chest was tight, and it had been tight these last three weeks. Ever since that awful night, at the house of one Capitaine Lecomte.
He´d not heard of Javert ever since they´d parted that night, and he did not intent to seek him out. As far as he was concerned the former inspector could stay wherever he was, hiding from his pursuers or hunting for them in his bloodlust. Valjean didn´t care. He didn´t want to have anything to do with it. This one time had been enough. Especially after the disappearance of poor Toussaint´s friend and her husband.
People said they had left the city for family matters, but somehow Valjean didn´t dare to believe that. They had asked questions for Javert and now they were gone. He had followed Javert and three men had died. Right after the man Javert himself had questioned got killed in the inspector´s presence. And this poor pharmacist … she too had died. It seemed as if death was following wherever this man went. Valjean´s soul got ice cold just thinking of it.
Cosette´s heartily laughter echoed through the garden, joined by that of Marius and the baron. Yes, those people were happy. At least someone who could be. The blessing of unawareness. May it always remain that way. May they never learn. Never.
"Monsieur?" the old Madame Pontier addressed him, and Valjean flinched, out of his dark musing. "There´s a …" she halted, briefly. "A man who wants to see you."
He could tell that she had been about to use the word gentleman, but had changed her mind, just before the word had left her tongue. There was something strange in her eyes, distaste maybe, as if the person she referred to did not quite fit her idea of a suitable person at all. Or maybe a presentable person?
"Who is it?" he asked, getting up from his seat.
She only shook her head. "He didn´t say his name, Monsieur." The old lady tried unsuccessfully to hide her disgust. The man in question had to be something … unusual. Not the sort of guest these people were used to.
Valjean followed her back inside, curious to say the least, and naturally headed for the front door. Mme Pontier stopped him though, and gestured for the back. Her gaze was tensed. Valjean could tell that she didn´t feel well about the idea of him actually going to see this … man. And just thinking of what had happened these last few weeks, Valjean felt uncomfortable about the idea as well.
Could it be Javert? He was definitely a man who would cause a reaction like this at an old woman. Only it hadn´t been fear Valjean had seen in her eyes. The expression he´d seen, was more about disgust, and he knew that sort of disgust only from people who despised certain degrees of poverty. People who felt uncomfortable around those who could not afford to bath each day, or change their old clothes. People who maybe feared to catch an illness from the poor. And none of this was anything Javert would represent.
Curiosity eventually got the better of Valjean. Whoever this man was, he must have a reason to seek him out. The question how this person knew that he was here, at this hour, didn´t occur to him – yet.
He reached the back door. It was standing ajar, just a bit, and he could see the man waiting there, in the backyard. He had his back to Valjean, as if the street was more interesting than the yard. He wore old, used up clothes, dirty and ripped in many places. His skull was almost without hair and the beard, Valjean could see, even from behind, was thick, and not well-tended.
His guess had been correct then. Madame Pontier´s reaction had been about the social status of his man. A beggar maybe, that had heard of him being a generous giver? Sometimes they found their ways to the doors of people. If they had the courage to knock. Some of them even made a science out of this, Valjean knew. With secret signs they drew on the walls, so others of their trade would know if it was worthwhile to knock on this door, or wiser to stay away from another. Was this man one of them?
Valjean cleared his throat. "Monsieur?"
The man swirled around, startled by his voice, and Valjean faced two hideous eyes. Steel blue and just as piercing as he remembered them.
"My God." he exclaimed as he stared at Javert, in utter shock.
The man that once had been a police inspector chuckled, amused. "Well, if that isn´t a nice greeting."
Before Valjean knew what was happening, Javert shoved him inside, out of public sight. If anyone would come past this spot that was.
"What happened to you?" was all Valjean knew to ask, and this time the reaction he got, was a startled one.
"What?" Javert retorted, and spread his arms, indicating his appearance. "This was your idea. Now it disturbs you that I actually took your advice?" He shook his head, checking the hallway for listeners, all in one move. "Seriously, Valjean. Sometimes I wonder if anything ever satisfies you."
An angry huff escaped Valjean´s throat. "What do you want here? How do you even know where I was?"
"You and your daughter came here every day these last two weeks." Javert rolled his eyes. "It wasn´t that hard to guess."
"Are you spying on us?"
"It´s called observance. And logical thinking. The girl´s in love and you would never bring it over you to deny her anything. So of course you´re here every day."
Once again Valjean felt this sensation in his chest. One he had believed not to be capable of anymore. Aversion.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice cold and hard. Javert had to feel quite at home with this. But he barely reacted to it, ignoring the hostile tone.
"I need your help." he told Valjean. "I believe I found the man who shot Gareaux. But I need you to tell me for sure."
Valjean narrowed his eyes, unable to believe what was happening here. This man really expected him to just come running, now that he showed up at his doorstep, after he clearly didn´t want to have anything to do with him these last three weeks. As if nothing at all had happened. As if he had a right to just command him, to do his bidding.
"No." he told him, cold and clear, and finally Javert reacted. He actually had the nerve to be surprised. "I´m not helping you anymore." Valjean stated. "I´m not helping you to murder any more people. You already made me a murderer."
"I didn´t make you anything." Javert hissed, into his face. "It was your choice to pull the trigger. You could have let this man shoot first and maybe kill us all, but you didn´t. You took the smart choice and now you beat yourself up because of it?"
"I guess shooting someone to death is something very familiar to you, but it is not for me."
Valjean looked into those cold, uncaring eyes, and it felt like a slap in the face, when Javert started to smile and chuckle.
"Now look how things have changed." he sounded almost satisfied. "The ex convict is afraid to be corrupted by the police man."
"You´re not a police man anymore." Valjean corrected. He gave him the once over, not able to hide his abhorrence. "I´m not sure anymore, what you are."
From one moment to the next the calm and mocking man was gone, replaced by a furious one, and Javert grabbed Valjean, by the collar, keeping him from turning away.
"Then join the club, Valjean." he hissed, and the flashing of his eyes gave Valjean a fright, for a moment. "You think this is what I wanted to become?" the former police man snarled. "You think I run around like this by choice? I never wanted to go back to this." Something inside Valjean instantly caught this inbetween sentence, storing it away for later, when he was free again to think clearly. For now the inspector was still in his face. "But something is going on." Javert recalled for him. "And this something demands some sacrifices."
"Like the life of a man, who would have needed a doctor instead of a bullet in his heart?" Valjean didn´t know how he managed it to let his voice sound even, but somehow he´d hit the mark. Javert let go of him.
"This man would have died anyway, with or without a doctor, you know that as well as I do. I only did him a favor."
"You can tell that yourself as much as you want." Valjean straightened his jacket. "I´ll not get involved in any of this."
"You already are involved, Valjean." Javert stated, matter of factly, but Valjean was adamant. He turned away, to leave, to return to Cosette and Marius, and the happy life they would have soon.
"You read the papers?" Javert asked, behind him, and Valjean halted. "You know that the mayor´s chief of staff has resigned. In favor for someone new."
Valjean, once in his life a mayor himself, felt something stir in his guts, and turned back around. Javert was smiling.
"You know how these things work." he nodded. "You know that this is no coincidence."
Valjean looked about, for any listener that might be there, before he returned to the uninvited guest.
"What do you want from me, Javert?" he hissed, fed up with this game.
Javert smiled triumphantly, only for a moment. "Identify the shooter for me." he demanded.
"What will you do to him, if I do?"
"Question him."
"How?"
"However I have to, to make him talk."
But Valjean shook his head. Not good enough. Not after that night. When he turned away again, Javert wouldn´t let him. He grabbed him, with an iron claw.
"This is about more than just a single life, Valjean." he hissed. "Don´t pretend that you´re so above everything. You need to get out of your pretty little life. Stop telling yourself that running away will solve your problems. You can´t hide from your problems. And you can´t outrun them either. We both have a duty to fulfill here, and whether you like it or not, whether I like it or not, we´re both in this together. And you will help me solve this, do you understand? That much at least you owe me."
After that he let go of him again, but something about the way he´d said this last sentence, had startled Valjean, deep inside, on a place he couldn´t even name. Something about the former inspector´s tone, and the expression in his eyes, had grabbed his conscience and wouldn´t let him go, even now that he was free again. He had no idea how Javert had managed it to capture him like that, only with a gaze. Something he had never managed in almost twenty years. And now he couldn´t just walk away from him. How? Why?
Valjean didn´t know the answer. All he knew was that eventually he nodded, and that Javert mirrored this nod. If he understood it or not. They had a deal.
...
Moreau exited the station-house, glad to finally get away from this idiot Marcel, behind his stupid desk and his even more stupid stack of files. It had been just a drunk that had peed against a house. Who needed a report for his arrest? In two days he´d be back on the street, drunk again, peeing against the next house, only to be picked up and thrown into the next drunk cell. Idiots. Drunks. Vermin wherever the gaze went. Sometimes he hated this place.
"Stressed?" a voice asked beside him, and Moreau managed a tired smirk.
"Did you meet Marcel?" he asked, and Felix the young Sergeant laughed.
"I think I heard of him. But don´t worry. He´s only on the day shift. Having him in the night shift would be worse."
"Oh God." Moreau groaned, only by the idea of it. Imagining how much more complicated everything would become if Marcel would insist on a report for each whore they arrested at night, for inappropriate behavior. For every drunk that shouted at a citizen for no reason, for every thief that used the cloak of darkness for his deeds, every bunch of street rats that got in a brawl. Dear God, wasn´t there a way to get rid of Marcel, quickly and quietly? He could wait until he walked home … the streets were dangerous at night.
"I´m just glad this pop eye is gone." Felix mentioned, interrupting Moreau´s sweet day dream. "That guy really started to get on my nerves."
"Who do you mean?" was there a new colleague in the district he hadn´t noticed yet?
"A What is more like it." Felix replied. "A beggar, but what an example. He was here all day."
"Was he molesting you?" Moreau smirked. "Threaten him with prison, that usually scares them off."
"He wasn´t begging for money. Just hung about here, gawking. Seriously, as if he had nothing better to do. I swear to you, I was so close to actually make up some charges, anything to get rid of this guy."
"But he´s gone now, right?" Moreau searched the place.
"Yes, thanks God." Felix exclaimed. "I know we´re not supposed to make up charges." he added, suddenly afraid Moreau could have taken him serious. "I was just kidding."
"Never mind this." Moreau set his mind at rest. "I know how stress can get to you." He gave his young colleague an understanding gaze. "You ever heard the name Marcel?" he asked, to prove his point.
And Felix laughed.
...
Javert peeked around the corner, just long enough to see the man in question, pad his colleague on the back, before making his way over the place, looking around suspiciously. As if he felt watched. How right he was.
Javert dragged Valjean to the corner, hurridly. "Is that him?" he asked, and Valjean looked.
He took his time, and Javert had to restrain himself not to shout at him to get it done already. But eventually Valjean nodded.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. It was way darker back then but … yeah. It is him. He has a scar that I recognize."
"All right." Javert was satisfied. He threw a glance at the man again, just as he vanished out of sight.
"What will you do now?" Valjean wanted to know.
"I´ll wait for him. I know where he lives."
"I´ll go with you."
Javert faced the other man, frowning. "I thought you didn´t want to have anything to do with my methods."
"And that hasn´t changed."
Javert understood "You think you can protect this man from me?" He couldn´t help but had to laugh at this. "Well, if that isn´t cute." His smile vanished as quickly as it had come, and the former inspector peeked around the corner, one more time. Moreau hadn´t come back. No one payed attention to them. Good.
He turned back to Valjean, still so determined, uncompromising. He truly wouldn´t let Javert do this alone. Wouldn´t give him free hand with this man´s life. Dear God.
"All right then …" Javert nodded. "Partner." And he padded Valjean´s shoulder, a little too hard maybe for comfort.
...
"Madame Pontier?" Cosette addressed the elderly servant. "Did you see my father? He was here just … a while ago."
"Oh Monsieur Fauchelevent left." Pontier answered, already hurrying on, but Cosette stopped her.
"Left? Where to? Why didn´t he say anything?"
"Cosette?" Marius limped closer to them, frowning about his love´s anguish all the sudden.
"Do you know where he went?" Cosette just kept asking the servant, and Pontier shook her head.
"No, Mademoiselle. Not where to."
Cosette knew instantly what the unspoken implication was. "But you know with whom."
The poor servant cast down her eyes. "There was a … a man. He asked to see your father. Probably wanted to beg some alms from him."
For a moment Cosette was off balance. Alms? Pontier sounded as if she talked about a beggar. But that couldn´t be right. She could feel, deep in her bones that it was Javert, who had kidnapped her father.
"Cosette, what´s the matter?" Marius finally reached her, resting on his crutches. But Cosette didn´t know what to tell him. Other than: "Papa has left. He …" and that was as far as she managed to get.
Marius saw that something more was troubling her, she could see that in his eyes. But of course he couldn´t know what it was. How could he? He hadn´t been there, that night, when the inspector had come to their house. He hadn´t seen his cold eyes, hadn´t heard his cruel words. He didn´t know that her father was in danger. In grave danger.
"Cosette." Marius reached out for her, concerned, as he saw her inner turmoil getting worse and worse. "Please, what is it?"
But all she could do was shake her head.
"Please, Madame Pontier." she addressed the servant again. "Tell me instantly when he returns. Will you?"
And the elderly lady nodded, startled. "Of course I will."
...
Valjean was glad that for a change they didn´t wait until it got dark to go through with this plan. Obviously Javert didn´t think it necessary to use the cover of the night. Or he simply got impatient. In any case it wasn´t a healthy combination. Neither was the house this man Moreau lived in.
The front door was already hanging askew and the condition of the stairwell was even worse. Valjean could see three steps alone on the first flight that were uneven, the plaster fell off the walls and when he looked up there was a wooden beam, holding the next flight, so rotten it would probably give in with the next best ball, thrown by a playing kid, bringing it all down. Was Javert really sure they were in the right place?
He seemed to be. As soon as they reached the first floor at the end of this long and rotten stairs, he turned to one of the doors, with great certainty, and knelt down, to open it. Once again, like a professional, with skills so remarkable, it so didn´t fit the picture of a just man of the police.
"You never told me where you learned to do that." Valjean mentioned as soon as they were inside.
"No." was all Javert would respond. "I didn´t."
Valjean sighed. "Are you sure he lives here? This house looks like it would break down when someone looks at it the wrong way. Do police men earn that little?"
Javert only gave him a look. "This is his place." was all he´d say. Nothing more. And Valjean just didn´t have the heart to poke any further.
He had never put much thought into how much a police man got payed for his duty. A duty that as well could cost his life. Like Javert had almost lost his life behind the barricades. Like many of his man did lose theirs on the barricades. And now that he looked about this poor excuse of an apartment, it was obvious that the man who lived here could not earn that much money. No wonder, some of them used all the power the state gave into their hands, merciless and hungrily.
Valjean had seen Javert do it. But he´d also seen others do it, much worse than Javert. If Javert´s home was only a little better than this, he was more than just a fanatic cop. If his worldly reward was that small, there must be some higher motivation for him than simply doing his job. Because Valjean knew – he just knew – that Javert, unlike others, had never lost his sense for right and wrong. That´s what Valjean had always admired about the inspector. That´s what he´d always respected. And now that he was standing here, in this hole of an apartment, he remembered again why.
Javert glanced at him, noticing his frown, and asked a brusque: "What?"
Valjean only shook his head. "Nothing." he claimed. "Nothing."
Javert studied him for another moment, suspiciously, as if trying to catch Valjean with a lie. Always the inspector. But Valjean didn´t give him anything to work with – always the fugitive. And so Javert turned away from him, searching the place, methodically. And yet another thing he seemed accustomed to. Searching apartments. What other routines had this police man gathered over the years?
When he found what he wanted – what man kept a rope under his bed? – Javert went to the chair at the tiny desk, and started to tie the rope around the armrests and the backrest. Ideal to bind someone quickly and efficiently, as soon as their victim arrived.
Valjean felt a knot in his stomach. He tried his best to remind himself that the man they were waiting for, was probably a criminal. Worse. A murderer. He´d seen him shoot a man through a window himself. So why did he feel so uncomfortable at the idea of attacking and binding him to a chair? Maybe because of what would happen to the man after that?
He didn´t get the chance to think this through. There were footsteps outside, in the staircase, and a moment later someone put a key into the lock. Javert jumped, and hurried to the door. He gestured for Valjean, and of course Valjean had no choice but to comply. He was here. He had agreed to this. There was no going back now.
When the door opened, they attacked, and it was surprisingly easy to secure the man. Moreau struggled, but against the two of them, especially Valjean, he had no chance. Only a minute after he´d entered his own apartment unsuspecting, he was bound to his chair, glaring up at the two intruders, furious.
Javert noticed his lack of fear too.
"You know who I am." he stated, a little surprised about the missing reaction of a man that clearly had to know he was in trouble now.
"Indeed." Moreau hissed, and gave Javert the once over. Unbelievable but he actually managed it, even in his position, to look arrogant. "Although I would have never guessed that you could let yourself go like that, inspector."
Javert leaned over the man, hands on his wrists for emphasis. "If I were you I´d start to take this a little more serious." he hissed.
"Oh, I am taking this serious." Moreau replied, unimpressed. "You are the one who doesn´t seem to realize how serious this is. Otherwise you would have left the city by now. Maybe even the country."
Valjean saw the realization creep into the former inspector´s gaze.
"What is all this about?" he demanded to know. "Speak now."
But Moreau only shook his head, and the gesture spoke loud and clear: No chance, buddy.
Javert straightened, looking down on the man before him. The man that was at his mercy just now.
"I don´t think they´re paying you enough money so you´re ready to die for these people." he spoke, but failed yet again to intimidate the man.
"I´m not only doing this for the money." Moreau stated, fiercely. "Or why do you think I´m still here, even after you killed three of my men? I am a patriot. Just like you. Only I am not on a black list."
"Black list?"
"Why do you think they wanted you dead? You think this story about blaming someone for the barricades is true? That this is all there is to it?" Moreau snorted. "And we were actually concerned you could be dangerous."
Valjean flinched more than Moreau did, when Javert grabbed the man´s throat. "I´ll show you how dangerous I can be." he snarled into his face. "Why did they want me dead? And who are they?"
"You were the perfect blame." Moreau smirked, triumphantly, as he told him this. "They know where you come from, it was easy to pin all this on you."
There again. Valjean heard it instantly, and he was not surprised anymore about Javert´s reaction, when he let go of the man before him, his hand suddenly weak in his shock.
"You think it was coincidence that Gareaux died when you were with him?" Moreau went on, mercilessly. "And this woman?"
This at last brought Javert back around, and he narrowed his eyes at Moreau.
"You … You were the one who killed Marianne."
Moreau shrugged. "In a matter of speaking. You can kill someone with a knife. Or a word."
Again Javert was at him. "So you can give an order, but actually doing it with your own hands is something too dirty for you?" he hissed.
"Spare me the lecture about her." Moreau replied, fearlessly. "You can´t seriously think that she was innocent."
"I know she was a spy for Gareaux." Javert deflected the argument, but Moreau shook his head.
"No. That´s too simple, inspector. Or do you really think she saved your sorry ass from jumping off that bridge, because she thought it was her duty?"
Valjean´s head snapped around, staring at Javert. "Or because she liked you so much?" Moreau went on, and Javert choked him, harder this time.
"How do you know about that?" he demanded to know.
And all Moreau did was smile at him, smugly. "What do you think?" he croaked under the angry man´s grip. "She told me. Just before she died. Not everyone can stand pain, inspector. And you will know that pain is a good way to loosen someone´s tongue."
There was something poisonous in Javert´s eyes, when he replied, coldly: "Indeed."
And the next thing Valjean knew was, that Javert had drawn a knife, and stabbed it, without a warning, into the bound man´s shoulder.
Moreau screamed, in pain, his eyes wide with agony, and all Javert did was holding the knife in the wound, his face distorted with anger.
"Who do you work for?" he shouted the question at the panting man. And Moreau glared up at him.
"You know I can´t tell you." He held Javert´s death glare, amazingly brave, considering the pain he must be in. "I would never betray my country." he stated. "Just like you would never betray the uniform you used to wear."
Valjean watched with dread, how Javert´s face was frozen with this expression of hate and anger, as he turned the knife, inside the wound, inflicting more pain yet again. And once again Moreau screamed.
"Dare you talking to me about honoring the uniform." Javert spoke, full of hate. "You are a traitor to this uniform, to this whole country."
"No, I´m not." Moreau panted, turning his head to look up at him. "You are. Or you will be. When we´re done, you´ll be the worst traitor this country has ever seen. If you kill me or not."
"Why?" Valjean heard himself ask, startling not only the two other men. "Why him?"
Javert and Moreau both looked at him, as if they just now remembered him being there.
"Because they knew he´d never help them." Moreau answered, and turned back to face Javert. "You´re just … too honest, inspector. Too honorable, too impossible to bribe. They knew you´d fight them and they just couldn´t have that."
"So … this whole … try to assassinate me was just …"
"A precaution." Moreau affirmed. "True to the motto: If you can´t make them work with you, make sure they can´t fight you. If you hadn´t escaped us, Gareaux would have died the same day. The broken inspector kills his friend after a breakdown caused by his failure at the barricades, and hangs himself out of guilt. Case closed. Only you had to struggle."
Javert grabbed his throat again. "Who´s behind all this?" he asked, and when Moreau only laughed, he reached into his wound. "TELL ME!"
"Javert." Valjean took the other man´s arm, dragging him back, and Javert swirled around to him, glaring at him warningly. As if he´d be ready to continue the same procedure on him if he got into his way. But Valjean´s calm features didn´t miss their effect, even on this raging man, and Javert blinked, startled.
"May I?" Valjean asked, gesturing for Moreau, and to his great surprise, Javert indeed stepped back, to let him have his try.
Valjean hunched before the bleeding man, fully aware of the fact that he had allowed it to come that far. That Javert had tortured this man, for information. And he hadn´t done anything. The fact that things had happened too fast for him to intervene, was no real excuse. He was here now, and he was ready to take over, where Javert did not come any further.
Better not to think about it, he rebuked himself and made himself focus.
"You said Gareaux would have died the same day." he recalled, his voice so much more collected than he would have expected it from himself. And this man just glared at him, panting. "What about Lecomte?" Valjean wanted to know.
Moreau frowned, irritated, his eyes flying up to Javert for a moment.
"What about him?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
"Your men tried to kill him a whole day after Gareaux." Valjean explained his question. "Did you get sloppy with your schedule? Did you not have enough men? What was the reason?"
Moreau regarded Javert, one more time, before he lowered his eyes, thinking for a moment. "He was a secondary target." he spoke, carefully, as if to make sure he said the right thing. "Gareaux and Marianne were the main operation."
Valjean exchanged a glance with Javert, before turning back to Moreau. "What did Marianne have to do with this?"
"She was a witness. And a mission like this can´t afford any witnesses." And then, all the sudden there was something new in his eyes, something that was purely meant for him, Valjean. Moreau smiled. "No relatives that could come back to ask questions one day."
And at this, Valjean suddenly knew, what this man was implying.
"Cosette." he jumped up.
"You think they don´t know you, Fauchelevent? They know everything about you. They will find you. And your daughter."
Valjean stared at this man in the chair, for an undefinable amount of time, a time in which the entire world seemed to have stopped, just for him. And then time went on running, a little faster than usually to catch up with the brief stop it had taken.
Valjean felt dizzy. But not dizzy enough to forget what was at stake. And what he had to do.
"Cosette." he breathed and was out of the door, before he even knew he was moving. He had to get back to her. He had to get her someplace safe. He had to …
But he didn´t get further than to the stairs. The sounds of running men and the voices he heard coming from downstairs, were unmistakable.
"In there. Hurry. They´re upstairs."
He skipped back, hesitating only for a second.
"JAVERT!" he shouted, and the men downstairs of course heard him too. They halted briefly, startled about his shout, and he used their distraction, to attack before they could. Using the parapet as leverage he raised his feet off the ground and swung, kicking the one closest to him in the face. The man grunted, and fell back, into the others. Unfortunately one of them avoided being entangled in this bale – and this one man aimed a gun at Valjean.
The shot rang out, and Valjean felt the hot pain in his shoulder, as he lost his grip and fell, onto the stairs. Downstairs the men he´d fended, tried to get back to their feet. And behind himself, Valjean heard footsteps. And then someone was there, dragging him back. Javert.
A gun was aimed at the men downstairs, over Valjean´s shoulder, and Valjean knew it wouldn´t be enough. They had one shot for three men. Armed men. If they didn´t stop them all at once, they´d be dead.
He had no idea how he managed this, over the pain in his shoulder, but Valjean grabbed the gun, before Javert had a chance to shoot, taking it out of his hand.
"What are you doing?" Javert shouted, but Valjean had already aimed the gun, and shot. The bullet hit the rotten beam holding the stairs, and it exploded in dozens and dozens of splinters. The men downstairs flinched, and then their gazes went up, to the ceiling.
One of them tried to aim his gun at them, in a desperate try to cause some more damage before the chance would be gone. But it was too late. The ceiling came down, like a trapdoor, and their attackers were sufficiently blocked from them.
And finally, finally Valjean allowed himself to feel pain.
His groan seemed to have woken Javert too, because the hands holding him, dragged again, bringing him back to his feet and shoving him over to the window. He couldn´t be serious. There was a heap of garbage down there, mostly old food leftovers and some other nasty stuff no one wanted to inspect any closer. Javert opened the window, and Valjean was about to ask him if he´d lost his mind. He´d just been shot and he expected him to climb out of a window? In the first floor? How on earth was he supposed to do this?
Behind them there was a sound, and when he turned around, he saw Moreau lose of his ties, standing in the door, aiming a gun at them. Javert swirled around and pushed Valjean with his shoulder, right out of the window. The last thing he heard was a shot ringing out, and then he just fell. For a second everything swirled, and then he hit the garbage. Something skidded under him, and he fell even deeper, sliding down the heap of stinking something. For a moment everything around him spun and he wasn´t sure if he shouldn´t empty his stomach. There was probably worse on his coat right now. What had just happened?
When he looked again, he saw another figure jumping out of the window. Javert landed better than he had, rolled off the disgusting mass, and came back to his feet almost in one move. A hand grabbed Valjean´s coat, and dragged him up. And then they were just running. Running for dear life, for distance, for the sake of running.
Valjean had no idea how he managed it to keep up, but he did, dodging corners, again and again, until neither of them couldn´t go on any longer. If they truly had lost their pursuers? He couldn´t tell. All he knew was that he was done. His lungs were screaming and the pain was everywhere. Especially in his shoulder. So that was how a shot wound felt like.
...
"Cosette." he brought out, leaning against the wall, fighting the pain. "We need to get to her." And even though he could barely walk anymore, he tried to go on.
A hand grabbed his coat.
"What are you doing, old man?" Javert was still panting himself, but he was still strong enough to stop and push him back against the wall, causing the wound to scream again in pain. And had Valjean not been so out of breath, he had screamed too. "You can´t reach the mansion in this state." Javert told him. "You´d barely make it around the next corner. Let me see this."
Valjean felt his arm on fire, with each movement the other man caused, peeling the coat and other clothing away, in order to see the wound. A white light started to blind his vision, and for a while Valjean actually believed that this had to be the light of heaven, calling him. But no. He couldn´t go now. Not yet. Not with Cosette being in danger. He had to fight, he had to stay alive.
"I think you got lucky." he heard Javert´s voice, calm and collected, not like someone who looked at a dying man. "The bullet went right through." he told him. "And if it didn´t hit any bone …"
"I don´t think it did." Valjean managed.
"Then we can patch it up, until you can see a real doctor. You got lucky." Javert glanced up at him, briefly, and added a disapproving: "Luck´s with the idiots."
That finally brought Valjean´s senses back around. "Idiot." he repeated, staring at the man that was currently destroying his best coat, in order to use it as bandages.
"You ran right into them." Javert affirmed, shoving the balled up cloth under Valjean´s shirt, pressing it on the wound. And Valjean cried out, trying to keep his voice down.
"We both ran into their trap." he panted, when he could breath normally again. "Don´t pretend that you´re so much smarter than I am."
Javert merely chuckled, not looking up from his work, not arguing with Valjean´s logic either. He just ripped off some more cloth, putting more pressure on the wound. And Valjean leaned back, trying to keep his cries inside. When he looked at Javert again, still so focused on his work, Valjean noticed blood on Javert´s neck.
"You´re injured too."
"It´s just a grace." Javert sounded annoyed. "You´re the one who´d lose enough blood to leave a trail for them to follow."
He shoved some more cloth under Valjean´s shirt, this time behind his shoulder, on the exit wound, and once again Valjean gasped, at the pain. And then all the sudden, he started laughing, heartily, despite the pain.
Javert glanced up at him, startled. "What, are you one of those who actually enjoy pain? Or why are you laughing?"
Valjean leaned back, once again making his shoulder scream, as the improved tourniquet pressed hard against his wound. He waited until the white dots stopped dancing before his eyes. And still the whole time he couldn´t stop smiling, chuckling quietly.
"I think you know why I´m laughing." he told Javert at last, meeting his gaze. And of course he did. He knew it very well.