Is This

Chapter 1: Trouble Process Report

Before him he saw two roads, both equally straight: but he did see two; and that terrified him—he who had never in his life known anything but one straight line.

Valjean's generosity toward him, Javert, overwhelmed him.

His situation was beyond words.

…..

Javert passed through an alley to the Rue Saint Martin and caught his reflection in the cracked glass of a window. An unrecognizable haggard man with sunken eyes stared back at him. How did this happen? How could he, the very essence of order and authority, become reduced to the likes of the rabble he stood against? He ran a hand through the untied hair that fell raggedly across his face.

One thought alone raced through his mind throughout the night and would fail to cease: that his admiration of the convict, Jean Valjean, was far greater than he could imagine. There was nothing he could do to refute the fact, nor could he bear to accept it.

Valjean, in Javert's eyes, was a benevolent criminal, a virtuous liar. How could there even exist such a being? It was an absurdity, yes, but he believed in the notion truthfully. Valjean could never do wrong, and at that moment Javert realized his mad pursuit of the man had been futile. He scoffed at this epiphany. If the chase had been so meaningless, then why had he carried on with it for so long?

Javert paused and reflected. What was wrong with him? Valjean had, after all, spared him his life. But this unforeseen act only tortured him to the point of madness. His enduring revulsion of the criminal had suddenly surrendered to the hands of respect. His heart began to thunder in his chest. Did his feelings toward Jean Valjean truly extend beyond mere admiration? Could it really be…affection?

Javert recoiled at the notion. So often had he tried to entertain the idea before but would never leave any room for acceptance. He couldn't; not for a man of his stature and disposition. Besides, it was illogical, and it would only lead to self-punishment. He buried the thought in the back of his mind and walked on.

The imposing façade of Notre Dame loomed in the distance. He slowly approached its doors in trepidation, as though his boots were filled with lead. He stopped and turned away. His heart ached. His faith was unraveling. What good would an act of repentance do for him now?

The inspector continued to wander the streets and became increasingly chagrined when his thoughts strayed to Valjean. How could he love—he who had never known how to—and above all, love someone he had nothing in common with? He feared Valjean—and he adored him. It was becoming all too much.

He walked along the Quai de la Corse and peered into the dark waters of the Seine. Its strong current lapped at the sides, as though it were trying to reach for him. At the Pont au Change he glimpsed the forbidding towers of the Conciergerie sharp against the sky and suddenly felt lightheaded. With one hand he steadied himself against the parapet of the bridge, feeling the cold stone against his palm. Light from a solitary gas lamp flickered nearby. Its dim glow was hardly enough to illuminate the rest of the cavernous street. He knew what he must do.

Javert looked over the edge of the bridge. Below him was a black abyss. Above, a starless sky. All around he was walled in darkness, yet everywhere he turned he saw Valjean.

He removed his hat with a tremulous hand and placed it on the parapet. He then stepped over to the other side. As he balanced there, his vision started to blur. There was no turning back, no seeing Jean Valjean ever again.

All for the better, he thought. It would be over quickly and the convict would torment him no longer. He exhaled sharply, closed his eyes and leaned forward.

"Javert?" a voice called.

Startled, the inspector whipped his head around. Valjean stood behind him, a horrified look on his face. His tattered shirt was stained red from the dying insurgent's blood, his beard matted and his hair a tangled grey mass. Javert felt a sudden pang of happiness fill within him, which he quickly quelled with an angry glare.

"Leave!" the inspector barked.

Valjean slowly approached the parapet.

"I said leave!" Javert hissed once again, a fierce glint in his eye.

Valjean paused momentarily and stared at the inspector. This man who was once a resolute lion of the police force was now reduced to nothing more than a pitiable mortal awaiting the hands of death.

"I can't," said Valjean.

Javert trembled slightly, unable to look at the worried convict.

"Are you so blind, Valjean? You've seen what has transpired at the barricades tonight," he said. "This world is hopeless. My faith is gone; I've betrayed my duty and all that I stand for."

Valjean looked at him bewildered. "Surely you don't mean that."

"There is no purpose for me—what have I now?"

Valjean stepped closer. "You have me," he said quietly.

How dare he, Javert thought. Not now. Not like this. He had not the courage to confront Valjean, despite having done so many times before. How could he stand face to face with the man he loved and withhold how he truly felt?

Javert smeared the tears forming in his strained eyes with his coat sleeve. He wanted it to end, to drown the tumultuous thoughts that raced through his mind in the Seine, but somehow he remained frozen. The dark waters below were calling with a hypnotic rumble…

Then two strong yet gentle hands had suddenly grasped his shoulders.

"Please, Javert," came a soft voice.

Javert flinched at the convict's touch and inhaled a sharp, sobering breath of the cold night air. There really was no escaping this damned nuisance-of-a-man.

Slowly and unsteadily, he climbed over the parapet and stood face to face with Valjean. Through the dim light he could make out the convict's red and hollow eyes, slightly glassy, but strangely welcoming. Valjean opened his mouth to speak, but Javert, with a reflex of swiftness, seized Valjean's shirt collar and thrust him against the parapet.

"Why are you here?" he asked through gritted teeth. "I told you to leave me!"

"I'm waiting for you to arrest me," Valjean said calmly.

Javert let out a soft demented chuckle. "Don't be stupid. I cannot do such a thing."

He then released Valjean from his grasp and started to walk away into the shadows.

"Where are you going?" Valjean asked.

"It doesn't matter," the inspector said without looking back.

"But you're forgetting your hat," Valjean called.

Javert dropped his shoulders and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He trudged back to where Valjean stood and reached for the hat, but Valjean quickly pulled it away.

"First, answer me where you're going."

Javert's face contorted with pent-up fury and embarrassment. "Enough of your ridiculous games!" he snarled and waved a hand in front of him. "Give that to me."

"Please tell me where you are going."

"That is not your concern."

"Then if you do not tell me, I shall have to follow you."

"You will do no such thing!"

"Then come with me."

Javert stopped, stunned by this sudden proposition. "Damnation, Valjean! You can never let things be, can you?"

Valjean shot him a fatigued glance and sighed. "You're right. I cannot."

"Then make an exception this time."

"But I only want to help you."

"Ah," Javert sneered, "you want to help me. I suppose you think that I am somehow indebted to you because of what happened at the barricade."

Valjean only shook his head. "Is it against the law to help a fellow man in need?"

Damn him, the inspector thought. How could he possibly escape this trap now?

With as much restraint as he could gather, Javert buttoned his greatcoat in the methodical fashion as he always did. He took his hat from Valjean and cleared his throat. "Where do you propose we go?"

A flicker of ease filled Valjean's countenance. "I know a place," he said. "This way."