Chapter 2: Sanctuary
The house at Number 55, Rue Plumet was silent and cold for a June night. Valjean had considered returning to the house on the Rue de l'Homme-Arme, but didn't wish to trouble Cosette any more than she already had been.
He lit what remained from a few old candle stubs and removed a dust covered sheet from a worn settee and chair.
"Sit. Please," he gestured to Javert who only stared at the chair, contemplating Valjean's offer. Deciding seemed to be an arduous task.
"I'll stand," Javert said turning away.
"As you wish," Valjean said taking a seat. He sighed, relieved to be off his aching feet.
Javert walked around the sitting room, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched the taciturn Valjean out of the corner of his eye, the prolonged silence beginning to vex him.
"Well?" the inspector finally spoke. "You have dragged me here—now what?"
Valjean remained silent, trying to gather his thoughts. He glanced at Javert who had his back turned. "You could have arrested me in the Marais or the Rue de l'Homme-Arme. Why didn't you?"
"Why didn't you shoot me at the barricade?" Javert retorted.
Neither spoke. The argument undoubtedly felt childish to the both of them. Valjean only gazed at the inspector, his brow contorted with anguish.
"You annoy me," Javert said. "I'm leaving." As he made his way to the door, Valjean jumped from his seat to stop him.
"Wait. Don't go. Please," he implored helplessly.
"You're wasting your time, Valjean. Let me pass."
Valjean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "You've come this far, Javert. I want you to end it now."
Javert turned sharply to Valjean. "Don't you understand?" he said, his voice irritable and rough. "I cannot arrest you! You do not deserve to be arrested. Now let me go." He pushed him away and opened the door.
Valjean slammed his fist on a nearby table. This startled Javert who had never seen the serene Valjean in such a brief volatile moment as this, save for his years in the quarries. Valjean regained his composure and shook his head. He pulled the door closed. "Please don't leave, Javert. Not yet."
The inspector frowned, furious that the convict was ordering him about. "What are you expecting from me, Valjean? Vindication? Forgiveness of your sins?"
"I don't expect anything—not now at least. I can't let you go, knowing what you might do to yourself." He paused. "You saved a life tonight. At least let me return the favor."
Javert shifted his weight and turned away from Valjean. Each time he caught the sympathetic convict's eye, he felt his face redden with an bothersome heat. "Fine," he grumbled. "I shall stay."
He folded his arms tightly across his chest and sat down on the settee.
"It's late," Valjean said, lingering in the foyer. "There is a room upstairs that you can stay in for the night. In the morning you can take me to the prefect. Then you can arrange for my detention accordingly."
"Impossible."
"How so?"
"I've resigned my post."
"What?" Valjean asked, stunned as he moved toward Javert who remained as ridged as a statue. "But…why?"
"To free you."
"I don't understand."
Javert closed his eyes and spoke slowly. "To turn in a person as good as you would be illogical."
Valjean sat down and stared at him perplexed. "You find me good?"
"Enough questions!" Javert hissed. "I no longer possess authority over you. What more do you need explained?"
Valjean appeared rueful. "You're turning a blind eye on me?"
"I could if you left me alone," Javert said leaning towards the man. "I cannot simply betray society's rules for the sake of staying true to my conscience. It only disgraces me. Every passing moment I slip lower into the cesspool of commoners—the very beings I detest."
"You don't have to believe that. I have always considered you my equal, Javert."
"No. No," the inspector began. He stood up, his blue eyes piercing Valjean's. "How dare you think I could possess any sort of equality toward you? I may have lost authority, but you still bear the mark of a degenerate."
Valjean pressed a hand to his chest where that literal brand was. He pulled the torn flap of his shirt over it. "But a man can change," he said. "Surely that's the point of your institutions—not to simply lock up criminals, but to reform them for the better."
Javert fell silent. He walked over to a window overlooking the garden and slid his finger across the sill, examining the dust it collected. "Whatever possessed you to do it?" he asked without looking at Valjean.
"What?"
"Steal. Thieve. Rob. Have you forgotten, or must I remind you?"
Valjean turned away from Javert. Of course he remembered. The image of his frail sister flashed through his mind as it did so many times before. Her children never got the bread that was intended for them, and he was always certain that the news of his arrest never reached her ears. What had gone through her mind when she realized he was not going to return? Did she think he selfishly deserted them for a better life? After those twenty years, he always wondered what became of his family, and he could never forgive himself.
"You will never understand what it is like," he said bitterly, "To watch the ones you love starve before your eyes. To hear a child's cry of hunger and pain while you realize there is nothing you can do to stop it."
"But break the law," Javert interjected.
"My efforts were in vain."
"It was written then," the inspector said placidly.
Valjean sighed. He could never fully understand Javert's rationale in certain matters, and never appreciated his insensitivity. Despite everything, he knew the inspector was still truthful in classifying him as a fugitive.
Valjean rose from the settee, the floorboards groaning under the weight of his feet as he went to relight an extinguished candle. "I am not perfect—nor are you," he said. "But what may I ask do you wish to prove by throwing your life away?"
Javert sighed crossly. "Valjean, I was put on this earth for one thing only. My work is all that I have known," he explained. "It was against my duty to let you go. Don't you see that I have failed?"
"An act of kindness is nothing to be ashamed of," Valjean said quietly.
"Then you know little of me," Javert said brushing the comment aside. "Besides, what I choose to do with my life is not your concern."
He met Javert's eye in the reflection of the window. "Then it appears that we are both in our own wretched predicaments."
"Why should that matter to me?" Javert asked indifferently.
"You now want nothing to do with me, and still I cannot seem to close my eyes to you."
The inspector squirmed. "Spare me your pity. You were better off letting me die."
"I could never let that happen."
"And why not?" Javert asked irritably.
Valjean said nothing but only averted his gaze.
"Why not?" Javert repeated.
"Because…because I…" Valjean trailed off.
Javert let out sardonic chuckle. "Speechless as usual, I see."
"Because I don't believe I could live in this world without you," Valjean said.
Javert stared at him, wondering if he heard right. Valjean stood against the waning glow of the candlelight, his eyes glassy and hopeless.
At that moment every barrier Javert had set up in his mind began to break. He could no longer heartlessly mask his veneration toward Valjean.
"I could have helped you," he said looking away, a faint tremble in his voice. "Instead I have made your life far miserable than one can imagine."
"That's not true, Javert," said Valjean stepping towards him.
"Yes it is. I should have left you alone, pursued others," he said. "How foolish I was to resent you."
Valjean watched Javert lean his hands against the window in a defeatedly, his shoulders hunched. He appeared to recede inwardly.
"We mortals have many weaknesses. We feel too much, hurt too much. And all too soon we die," Valjean said as he approached Javert. "But we do have the chance of love."*
He touched Javert on the shoulder, just as he did at the bridge. This time the inspector did not wince. His heart beat quickly and he suddenly felt pervaded by a curious warmth as he moved his hand to Valjean's.
"How can this be written?" he asked quietly.
Valjean moved to face him and pulled his hand close to his chest. Their faces were close, and Javert trembled from the man's warm touch and gentle gaze. And at that moment he embraced Valjean, slowly, then with conviction. For once he felt at ease—safe and needed.
"You smell dreadful," the inspector whispered into his ear.
Valjean was well aware of the fact. A rare grin emerged on Javert's face. Valjean smiled in turn, and slowly their lips met.
Javert felt as though he were spinning in a whirlwind of bliss. As they parted, he placed his forehead against Valjean's and gently moved a hand along the edge of his face.
"You have won, Valjean."
Valjean shook his head and smiled. "No Javert—we both have."
